Post Sixty-Five.

You probably won't even read this, but whatever. I need to blow off some steam, and you're kinda ignoring me. Maybe not on purpose, but hey, things happen.

Communication is key, right?

Then tell me how you're feeling. Tell me what's wrong. You'd rather not talk about it. I'd rather not be worried it's something serious. I'd rather not be worried that it's most likely about me. You could tell me if it was. Maybe it won't bother me, or maybe I'll be hurt a bit... but I'd rather know what's going on, rather know the truth, than to believe it's something much worse.

Maybe it's a guy thing. Who knows.

I usually tell you what's up with me. Though, I always have this feeling you're not very concerned. Maybe I'll just stay silent about that stuff.

Worry. Worry. Worry.
That's all I've been doing.

When I tell you sometimes I worry about you, I lie.
I'm always worrying about you, and I always have.
You were my best friend before you became more.

Whatever you do, please don't lie to me.