How could I be so threatened by mere words on a paper that you probably wrote so long ago? With people you no longer talk to and feelings you more than likely no longer have? How can I be so insecure when I am here now and thats all that should matter. How can I be bothered when I also have past lovers and many journals filled with love and hateful words. Why does it feel like a knive through my heart when I think about you being in love with another? Is sharing our past really worth it? A past that hints to out present that it wil never add up.