You always say that I’m pushing you away with my kindness, and recently, I’ve done everything in my power to stop that. I didn’t think that I’d done too badly, to be honest.
Last night, I thought I’d failed again. But did I though? Did I fail? Or was it simply that your anger at someone else was directed at me? Perhaps really, it was you pushing me away, by accident. I don’t want to think about it, and I know that I’ll never be pushed away, so I will take the blame. I will apologise to set things straight, but with a little sleep and my rational brain, I’m not all that sure that it was my fault this time.
I hope that yet again, we can get past this, move on, and go back to the place we were at a couple of days ago, when we were doing so well. I hope that we can hold out without these petty arguments until Christmas, so that we can have coffee and girly gossip.
I only tried to do what I thought was right, last night. That’s the singular only reason. Yes, I want to slap him around the face, too. Boys are idiots.
I hate this. I hate arguments, and I hate silence, because it messes with my brain. It messes with my ability to work, to concentrate. So I just don’t work. And then I’m in an even bigger mess.
It’s a shame, because I’ve nearly finished writing the story that you asked me to tell. I think I’m finally ready to tell it, but I won’t. I won’t if we aren’t a hundred percent solid in our friendship. I won’t, if you can’t forgive me.