chasing, running.

I always wind up chasing.

Always.

How does this happen?

Why can't I ever just sit back and relax?

I thought love was about give and take. But apparently not with me.

Love is about me chasing. And getting turned down.

I throw myself out there haphazardly. I make a fool of myself under all those bright lights. Then I'm left out there, alone.

I still haven't told you the truth.

You'll probably never read this.

But I left him, for you.