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.

Oh.

So we’re not the friends who could go to the theatre together any more?

Oh.

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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