I didn't love him enough
March 06, 2003 2:38 a.m.
I sit here in the dark. Not becuase I love it, but because I hate it. My skin is flushed and red, my remorse boils like acid at my heart. I screwed up. There are no other words to say what I've done. There are no words to say "I'm sorry." Everything I try to type comes out empty and meaningless. In the past, I have been accused of being trite, of being subversive, of being uncaring, and of being rude. I have been called a gossip-monger, a prude, a judgmental bitch, a spoiled child, a bad friend, an ungrateful person, a lunatic, a psychopath, a lousy roommate, a lazy slacker, a poor role-model, and a drama queen. I have been called irresponsible, uncharitable, fraudulent, random, jaded, unthinking, sensationalistic, and even a lying sack of shit.But not until now have I ever given in and believed it.
