A letter.

Dear Irony,
Bite me.
Love, Aimee.


Honestly, a year later, and I'm still thinking of it. I was so happy then. And I can't help but wonder what happened.
At this point, I want to just throw myself into some foolish, whirlwind, imprudent romance, just for the rush of it all.
I just want to feel again.

Feel like I actually belong with someone.
Feel right. You won't let me help you, let me love you, so I'll give my love to somebody else.
I tried, and I gave up on you once, and it was an awful mistake, but it's too late to fix it now, and I understand your choice. I wanted to make you happy. I still do. But, she makes you happier, and when you took a seat far from me today, I realized it's over.

All good things come to an end, as they say.
I miss you, but I won't interfere.
I love you, but I don't think I could love you better than her.
This is all I can give to you;
All I can offer.
And it's not enough.
It's okay, though.
You don't need to say anything.
I'll hang around, in case you ever need me, because you're still so damn special and I just can't give up being around you easily.
but I will find somebody else.
And when I find somebody else,
I'll be happy. Maybe even as happy as you.
Good bye, love.