i’ve lost count of the amount of times you stepped back into my life. for the nth time, you waltz your way back into my life like how you always do: hey, how are you doing? what are you doing? do you still think of me? i’m helpless. i can only clutch onto your shirt as you hug me, and wonder why the hell do i keep my doors wide open for the taking.
see, it’s not the fact that you have me wrapped around your pinky finger that bruises me. it’s the fact that you have me wrapped around your pinky finger without wanting me at all that really cuts me down to the fucking core.
i read once that you only need twenty-one days to quit a habit and thirty days to retrain yourself to do something differently. but what i have is an addiction, and an addict doesn’t quit just because it stops feeling good. you are an endless cycle that i can’t quit.