Ian Clayton Gallagher (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sickoflivingalie) wrote2015-04-10 11:30 pm
sickoflivingalie) wrote2015-04-10 11:30 pm
@ ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival: 089.3. First Person Prompt
Love Hurts @ muserevival
Dear Mickey,
I don't know why the fuck I'm writing to you.
I'm supposed to be trying this fucked up thing called journalling. Apparently writing shit down can help stop you being so fucked in the head, but I've got nothing to say to myself. Everything I want to say is to you. But you're not here, and I know that's my fault.
I know I'm never going to fucking send this.
You know what? Fuck you for letting me break up with you. Fuck you for letting me fuck you, for letting me love you, for letting me need you. I needed you before you even fucking wanted to admit I existed beyond more than a warm hole to stick your cock into. I loved you before you even knew what love was.
Then I lose my fucking shit and everything starts to feel wrong. I can't put a foot fucking right.
I wanted it to all be right. Things like that, I wanted to tell you in person, but all you did was give me that fucking kicked dog look like I was damaged and you had no idea what to do to fix me. I waited for you to get that out of your system. The minutes, the hours, the days I tried to fucking wait it out just got longer and longer. I couldn't even fuck you to try to get back to being US... Ian and Mickey. I didn't want any of that pansy bullshit. I didn't need a fucking nurse, I needed YOU.
Need you.
I fucking need you, and you're gone. And it fucking HURTS.
We couldn't even fight it out. We couldn't punch the shit out of each other and it all just go back to being us. That was when I realised that maybe we never really worked. Do you think we worked? Or do you think we just existed because we didn't know anything better?
You deserve better. I know you won't fucking believe that. You just think you're Mickey Milkovich, hardass from the 'hood who needs to keep his head above water by fucking people up and over. Not that I'm arguing with that, because I used to think it was fucking hot. Emphasis on used to. Because lately, you stopped even being that and became something that I know I turned you into. I just haven't been able to find a label for that was. Desperate, maybe?
I think we were just fucking doomed from the start. I know how to run away all too easily, and you don't know how to run at all. Pretty fucked up, huh? It's why we hit a brick wall. Couldn't go forward, and couldn't go back. We were just stuck.
I didn't want to be fucking stuck anymore.
So, why can't I fucking get you out of my head?
This was supposed to be the right call. But nothing ever feels right anymore.
Fuck you, cunt.
I love you so fucking much.
- Ian x
muserevivalDear Mickey,
I don't know why the fuck I'm writing to you.
I'm supposed to be trying this fucked up thing called journalling. Apparently writing shit down can help stop you being so fucked in the head, but I've got nothing to say to myself. Everything I want to say is to you. But you're not here, and I know that's my fault.
I know I'm never going to fucking send this.
You know what? Fuck you for letting me break up with you. Fuck you for letting me fuck you, for letting me love you, for letting me need you. I needed you before you even fucking wanted to admit I existed beyond more than a warm hole to stick your cock into. I loved you before you even knew what love was.
Then I lose my fucking shit and everything starts to feel wrong. I can't put a foot fucking right.
I wanted it to all be right. Things like that, I wanted to tell you in person, but all you did was give me that fucking kicked dog look like I was damaged and you had no idea what to do to fix me. I waited for you to get that out of your system. The minutes, the hours, the days I tried to fucking wait it out just got longer and longer. I couldn't even fuck you to try to get back to being US... Ian and Mickey. I didn't want any of that pansy bullshit. I didn't need a fucking nurse, I needed YOU.
Need you.
I fucking need you, and you're gone. And it fucking HURTS.
We couldn't even fight it out. We couldn't punch the shit out of each other and it all just go back to being us. That was when I realised that maybe we never really worked. Do you think we worked? Or do you think we just existed because we didn't know anything better?
You deserve better. I know you won't fucking believe that. You just think you're Mickey Milkovich, hardass from the 'hood who needs to keep his head above water by fucking people up and over. Not that I'm arguing with that, because I used to think it was fucking hot. Emphasis on used to. Because lately, you stopped even being that and became something that I know I turned you into. I just haven't been able to find a label for that was. Desperate, maybe?
I think we were just fucking doomed from the start. I know how to run away all too easily, and you don't know how to run at all. Pretty fucked up, huh? It's why we hit a brick wall. Couldn't go forward, and couldn't go back. We were just stuck.
I didn't want to be fucking stuck anymore.
So, why can't I fucking get you out of my head?
This was supposed to be the right call. But nothing ever feels right anymore.
Fuck you, cunt.
I love you so fucking much.
- Ian x