Well fuck

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.


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