Seriously, can you please just grow up?
I know that might sound harsh and maybe there was a more gentle, subtle approach I could have taken, but seriously. We’re adults, and you need to get over yourself.
Why do you insist on walking around, shoulders slumped, playing the victim? You are not a character in a Nicholas Sparks novel. You can keep writing letters, building your metaphorical house, sitting there pining for the day that she suddenly springs out of bed, eyes wide because she realizes what has always been right in front of her; but it’s pipe dream. It’s something novelists invented to sell books to people who refuse to face reality.
It isn’t reality. It’s a fictionalized version of a life so unobtainable and you are dwelling on it while ruining the life you actually have.
Yes, she’s attractive. Yes, she’s fun. Yes, she made your stomach…
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