I'm tired of crying, all I wanted to hear was that you wanted to try.  That maybe, just maybe, you gave a shit.  But you're just like the rest of them, just like every single one.  And I tricked myself into thinking that you weren't.  It's not fair to me to be this understanding, to be so naive, to wish for the most hopeful things in hopeless situations.  I'm so bad at picking up the pieces when nothing seems to fit back together without being forced.  It would be a lie to say I'm not upset, the worst of them all to say I'm over it.  I wish I was half as numb to things as I pretend to be when you ask if everything's okay.  No, everything's not fucking okay, I'm a mess and it's because of you, and me, and I feel like I'm falling apart, and I hate that you don't care... not even a little bit, not even at all.