I am done.
You apparently fucked around with autumn at a time when you and I were still okay.
Whether this is true or not, I don’t know but there is evidence.
You loved me at one point. You don’t now.
I am going to move on.
You will honestly wish you talked this out with me instead of blocking my number.
You lost sight of who you are. You may not be suicidal anymore but you sure as hell are not living in reality.
I have so much more to say but it does not mean anything.
You are too fucked up to really see the truth.
There are friendships I’ve mourned over where too much history got in the way. There were too many harsh words and broken promises and silent disagreements, and it rotted to an impatient grave. But there are others where we traveled the jagged road of reconciliation, mending wounds and untying knots and covering with grace: and on the other end of this is an ocean-deep intimacy of perseverance that couldn’t be reached any other way. We had to wrestle with the ugly parts of our nature. Demons were exposed. Secrets were spilled. Yet there is a joy in this sort of enduring friendship that goes the long distance; there’s a crazy sort of laughter with a lifelong friend that is colored by the weight of heels digging into the ground, a love that says, ‘I’m staying.’ We see it in the cross, and we can have it now, even in a world such as this.J.S. (via talithak0um)