You’re wrong. I am just a bad person. Please stop thinking there’s something in me worth saving. I won’t change. You can’t fix me. I’m not broken, I’m just careless. I fucked around every time I went to New York. Hell, I fucked around right at home. For some reason you’re the constant. I come back to you, continuously. You let me. Normally I’d find that utterly pathetic and call you insane to everyone who asks me about you, but I don’t think that. Whatever the case, I guess you could say that, in a way, for some reason or another, I consider your feelings toward me over other girls feelings toward me. So please stop, because I can’t love you back. Please stop, because you’re the nicest, most caring person I’ve ever met and I don’t want to ruin that. Please stop, because I can’t and this cycle will continue if you don’t start ignoring my calls. Please stop, because my words don’t mean what you think they do. Get me to get over you by getting over me.