It's before nine-thirty in the morning and I'm on the computer.
It's before nine-thirty and I'm confused.
Yes I'm confused again.
I spend my life in a constant state of confusion of varying degrees of intensity.
I still care.
I don't like your cryptic messages.
I guess I should be glad (?) that you still bother to text sometimes.
Should I?
I wish I knew what you were thinking.
I think I miss you.
Do you miss me too?
I wish I knew what to do.
When I hear about you, hear where you've been, I feel funny.
Like there's part of me that wishes I just knew about your life without having to hear it second, third hand from other people.
But then again, it's not my right to know anymore.
But I still feel,
still feel for you.
I just wish I knew about you too,
wish I knew whether you feel the same.