Sometimes I keep writing about you like our story hasn’t ended, like there are still chapters to unfold, but the truth is when I go back, the pages turn blank as the time between what we were and what we are stretches because everything I remember eventually fades and this, this is the only way I can try and still keep you alive. Until the ink finally decides to run out. And my heart decides it’s time to let go, which should be done long ago. But I can't if you keep coming back to me. It's like you're hot then you're cold. I wished I could just settle down but there really isn't any guy out there that I can trust enough to open up to them.