This story's getting old.

Sometimes I feel so incredibly predictable. Like the words I want to say are already in the back of your mind. Reiterated over and over until they lose what little, if any, meaning they've ever had. I'm surprised we've/it's gone on this long. (If you can call it going on). And I keep telling myself it's over but I hope that it is this time around because I really don't want to keep reading journal entries and wishing that somewhere in between the lines is something secretly about me. So here we are, and if the way it's been lately is the way it's going to be for good, I won't mind. But don't worry. You'll live on in jealous hearts and jealous eyes for years to come. At least. Sweetie, so many people would still kill to be in your shoes and sometimes it seems you're dying from it.

Tell me what to do next.