It's crazy to sit in this big house and feel lonely just because you left moments ago. You and I were just trying to make up, and you leave, and I'm lost, or to be more accurate, I'm at a loss.
Sometimes there's something missing. You're my best friend, the only real friend I have here, and maybe that's why it's so lonely, because when you're gone my world becomes smaller than the dust bunnies left behind from Mr. Orange's winter coat.
I want you to love me, and say it like they do in the movies. I want you to surprise me in the kitchen with a soft kiss on my neck. When you curl up next to me in our vast bed, I always hope that you'll reach for my hand.
I tell myself sometimes, and I know this is silly, but I keep thinking, "What if I was prettier, or if I drop 15 or so pounds? What if I was better looking, would he do all the things I dream of? Would he love me like Joe Gillis embracing Betty Schaefer in Sunset Boulevard?"
This is such crap. I am officially co-dependent ... and that's bullshit.