So, this little piece of nonsense is inspired by a conversation I had with a Roger on Omegle, of all things. I was trolling as Mark, and told the Roger that I loved him, and he was in shock, etc. Said he needed time to think. And then, by way of ending the conversation, said he'd be home in an hour. So when I was on Omegle three hours later, looking for him, I was really in Mark's head and got a little panicky, and then a little pissed, and this happened.
You said you'd be home in an hour. That was three hours ago. Was it what I said? What I told you? You said you were in shock. You said you needed to think. But you also said that even though it might not be the same way, you loved me, too. And that was good enough for me.
Then you said you were coming home. You said you'd be home in an hour. But you never came home. Do you know what I've been through in the past three hours?
More than the past three hours. Do you have any idea what the past year has been like for me? Helping you after April died. Helping you through your withdrawal, even when you beat me instead of thanking me. Why? Because I loved you. But you were too busy using me as your goddamn crutch to notice.
And then Mimi. I urged you to go after her. I wanted you to be with her. I was happy when you came out of the loft, not for me, despite all my pleas and urgings, not for me, who was there for you when we both went through hell, not for me, who loved you. Not for me, but for her. Why? Because I loved you. She made you happy, and I wanted you to be happy, no matter how much that crushed my soul.
And then I couldn't stand it. I had to tell you. And I hoped that somehow, impossibly, you'd understand. And when you told me that you loved me, even though it might not be the same way, I was still happy. Because you accepted me anyway.
But now it's been three hours. And suddenly I'm not so sure.