Connor fucking Maxey,

I love you more than I could ever care or hope to express. 

I sometimes fantasize about dying. About killing myself. About ending this confusion and heartache; ending being alone all the time; ending knowing that all of my problems are my own fault.

I don't think I have the balls to do it, but it's always a comforting thought. Somehow.

Connor Maxey, you're awesome. Lovely. Stupid, annoying, but lovely and true. I'm sorry for my weaknesses, but you're one of them. I love you, and I don't want this to end any time soon.

You're the only person that truly wants what I wants.

I haven't been single in such a long time, but it's about time, I suppose. I was too dependent on him. I hope I don't latch back onto him or onto someone else. That scares me. I want to live my life and live it well, and I don't want to have to rely on someone else to do it.

I don't want to live without him or drop him like he didn't exist, because there's no denying what we had. I don't want to do that with Morgan, either. There's no such thing as walking away from either of them, although it would be much easier and less detrimental to my health.

To be frank, I've never felt so fucking pretty or wanted in my life as I did with Morgan. It was scary and foreign. I have so many issues that, despite my last blog, I suppose I still want it. I suppose everyone does, especially if it's very obviously genuine. I could tell by his eyes that he wouldn't lie to me.
Still don't really trust him, though.

Connor's the only person that I've ever thoroughly trusted, and I don't know when or if that will change. I just hope he doesn't want to get rid of me.

I hope I die when I'm forty because apparently every woman over that age is a raging lunatic.