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i somehow always knew you'd love like this, and if i were to be really honest with myself, it's most likely why i was hung up on you for so long.

it's so easy, isn't it? to hold someone's hand and tell them you like them, to pursue them, let them know that you care, verbalize how you really feel about them.

i always wondered why you couldn't do it for me, but i guess i now know you were just never into me at all.

to the painter, goodbye. my imagined version of you was once the object of my admiration. now the reality of you is what i'm going to remember you by.