I go back to that last fight. I blocked you. It was so impulsive. We had never blocked each other, not in two years. I was just so angry. I was so tired of having to throw a fit for attention. I get that you are depressed. Fuck, so am I. You know? Like, to be perfectly honest, I don't give a shit. We struggle with our mental health, every day. I still showed up, and whatever, I am throwing it at you. You're not even fucking here. It doesn't matter how many eggshells I walk on or how I love you, you will never believe it until you believe it. I believe that you love me, I really do, I believe that you need me, even, and this is unfair to you. I believe a lot of shit that you are never going to believe I do until you embrace the idea. I cannot fix your past. I can't fix mine, and I am tired of looking back at it. There is nothing useful there. None of it serves me. I either miss someone I loved or I hate someone who hurt me. I was excited to move forward to a future with you. Sorry I got pushy. Two years. I gave you two years before I told you to shit or get off of the pot. Most people in this fucked and loveless new world would have given you two months to prove it. I am humam. ...