I want to believe you. I need to. I’ll try but I can’t promise that my head will let me. I don’t understand how they could hate you. You have no control over what you are.

I do like you and you would be good for me. You didn’t push me to drink or get high at the club, almost as if you knew how hard it would be to say no and that I’d hate myself after. You didn’t force me to tell you what I wasn’t ready to share. I want to push you away. Tell you that you’re not my type. That we can fuck but that’s it. I don’t want that. I’m afraid I’m going to say it anyway and I’m a good actor. I could make you believe me.