𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝘼𝙐 , dreamwastaken+wilbursoot ✔

While I die . . .

I'm tired. I wasn't depressed or sad. Just drained and confused.

Wilbur was worried about me and would regularly organise things for us to do together, which I greatly appreciated.

But still it was too much. Too much. To see George and Clay together, to see them so in love. To see what I hadn't been able to give him, and wonder if he'd ever been that happy with me. Had he enjoyed the time we were together? or was it nothing, just a passing moment in time?

I hated him. Hated him for occupying my mind every single moment of every single day, hated him for making me feel like this - hated him for breaking me. Something was wrong with me, something that I couldn't place, and it was killing me. Why did he do it, choose him over me? that - that was the question that was killing me.

I don't know if Wilbur made anything worse or for the better but I see those gravity-drawn shoulders painting a picture of his heart, as if neither it nor his soul would welcome a beat. I see in his eyes that his brain has built some new walls, he was lonely. If I give him a chance we can take them down brick by brick and start to feel together what it means to be a real friend.

It was killing me. Killing me.

I thought I knew what I was doing, but now I'm just lost.