#472.
I hate that a lot of the time I'll cry over this.
I hate that whenever you bring this up, I blame it on myself and wish I could do more. I hate that I have to restrict you like this and I hate that you don't realise how upset all of this makes me. I don't ever want to have to be a reason for you to be upset. I don't know how I'd deal if I ever found out that was so. I'm sorry I'm so emotional and I'm sorry I'm probably going to try and guilt you over making me feel like this when in reality it's not your fault. It's mine. And no matter how much you try to share and play the blame game, I will always know that it's me.

You're waiting for me, and it makes me sad because I don't want you to have to be waiting. I don't want you to think of this right now as waiting. Because that's not what it is for me. And it really hurts if that's all this is for you. Waiting.

Hello, this is Tien. This blog is the remains of the unconventional cliches and angsty phrases of my teenage years. (Plus a new one every now and then)
I ♥ Phoenix, (500) days of summer, double entendres, unmade beds, autumn, Chopin, syncopated melodies, G7 chords and things that make me feel.

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