There are times when I hate myself.

Like the times when I realise that in my own efforts to make my own dreams come true, in my own futile attempts to make something of my life, that I've let the biggest thing in my life suffer. It's scary how easy it easy to overlook my boyfriend. He is just there, he's always been there, and I feel fairly confident that he always will be. And so I get on with my life, doing the things I want to do with my time, happily beliving that he will be ticking along just fine.

And then there are times when the whole thing collapses. Times when I just want to go up to him and hold him, and say 'sorry' a million times until the pain goes away. Times when he needs me and I'm too busy caught up in my own little world to notice.

I hate myself for not being everything to him that he needs me to be. Hate myself for not being the man he sees when he looks at me. But mostly I hate myself for being so selfish that I can take him for granted. Because, tommorrow, if he wasn't there, my world would cease to exist. He is the my morning, my lunch-time entertainment and my night. He takes my moaning, my complaining, my cynical bitterness and he welcomes it, loving it. He takes me as myself. So many times I forget what an amazing thing that is to ask of somebody.

This is all very dramatic of course and the cynic in me is screaming at my lack of style. Right now I feel worried for him, and sorry for myself, and sorry for him and worried for me. Even when I'm upset for him my emotions are selfish.

I want to know how to give him more of me. I want to know how to find the relationship we had.
I don't think we've lost it, we've just had to ration it out to last a lifetime. But right now, I'd take a firework over a fire anyday...