A drunkard’s confession

I’ve been drinking my brains out for over a year trying to figure out if I’ve done the right thing. So, trust me, I’d rather have you breaking my heart than spending one more day thinking about him. I’d rather have you make me feel for two minutes the way you make me feel than wonder “what if I would have done this another way?”. I’d rather have a sour muscle at my hand by writing all the feelings I have when I think of you than spend another moment thinking “what if I will never fall in love again?”. I’d rather feel the after pain than the emptiness of not feeling a damn thing. So you deal with that, and I’ll just see that my butterflies will keep on flying. I so much needed them back into my life.
And what if – just what if – you will not break my heart? And I’ll just break with yours, for a change? It’ll still be called living, you know? And I drink to that.

PS: I will not let you see this because you'll just get scared and you'll ruin the portrait I have of you. And the possibilities.