You were telling me everything I ever wanted to hear. You said I was your favourite and that I always made you happy. I was there, listening- like usual. You were talking, having drank too much for anyone else to put up with you- but me. You knew I'd answer the phone. You knew I'd let you stay. You knew I'd drive you home in the morning. You knew I'd resort to my old ways of bending over backwards to do anything for you. Anything and everything.
I hate it. I hate how I act when I'm around you. I hate your charm and your wit. I hate how well we get along. I hate how other people see it and how you're the only one that doesn't. I hate how I want to hear everything you're telling me, but I want you to mean it in the morning as much as you mean it at 3am.
So you apologized, but it doesn't matter. I stopped listening to you a long time ago.
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