Sometimes I wonder if I even should’ve confessed my love for you in the first place. You say you do all of this for me, but it doesn’t even feel like it anymore. Actions are louder than words, and I hate to say that it just feels like you’re lying to me. That you don’t actually like me. That kiss? It was probably to silence me, wasn’t it? So I’d stop complaining about the relationship that has yet to blossom?

I’m starting to give up hope. On this, on whatever we are— on us.