BUT YOU KNOW WHAT MAKES ME REALLY FUCKING MAD?
The fucking fact you decided to randomly re-enter my fucking life. And reminisce over us and everything we shared. And I didn’t believe you felt anything until you sent me a picture of a gift I gave you last year as if proof that you still thought of me. And then I decided to admit to you that I missed you. And then your response. Your fucking response; the one that said “you need to get over me.”
It kills me to think you have someone else wrapped in your arms to fall asleep with. I hate thinking if she notices your long eyelashes while you sleep until the early afternoon. I wonder if she notices your sad attempt to match your clothes or your abnormally dry skin or how game center can get your undivided attention. I wonder if you tell her about Grace Kelly and facts that a normal person wouldn’t know. I wonder if she makes your bed or knows that you’re a momma’s boy. I wonder what she knows that I don’t. That’s what I hate, the unanswered questions.