And we hate things.

My trust in people is constantly fleeting, barely there and always willing to crumble at the slightest failure in communication. When did we become so unaware of others and so involved in ourselves? All I ask if for someone to respond. When I sound desperate, why doesn't anyone answer? I hate having to detach myself from things, bitterness swallowing up any leftover piece of hope. That's the pathetic part...after all this time, I still hope for our friendships to fix themselves and yet they fail me time and time again. I keep having days where I'm overwhelmed by the past that surrounds me. I think about burning all my pictures, I think about giving back her journals, and erasing any trace of what was and how it ended. If I can't fix myself, I can at least destroy the reminders of the mess I made.

I wish either one of us cared enough to try...