How are you? He asks. I’m not going to answer that.
Gods, stop – totally not your problem, but toey as hell…. well… sure… guess we can’t talk about that either.
Globe theatre – really expensive – ok, I’m going anyway.
So we’re not the friends who could go to the theatre together any more?
So that whole “we can be friends who don’t fuck”….. yeah…. that’d be a no then?
So no. I’m not going to tell you how I am because I’m broken. I’ve lost not just a lover, but my best friend who is on a quest to be with some sexually repressed livingwithherparents shadow of me. I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of knowing how much I hurt. How when you send me silly pictures of the bird hide we fucked in and then shut me down for playing along it just rips it all open again. Because I don’t know where I stand. And I don’t know how to be with / without you.
I keep dreaming of ways to kill myself less out of spite but more out of desperation for something to change. Can’t do it – my little smiling hook won’t let me go.
I’m buffy – going through the motions. I just want to feel alive.