I'm getting that horrible feeling again. Like the world is spinning too fast, like the days fly by too quickly and everyone seems to be moving forward so fast that I can't keep up. It's just one of those days......and it's at times like this when I start thinking about things that frustrate/ frustrated me, putting me in a even more rotten mood.

I want to hate you 'cos I can't forget you. I hate it that some things you said about me were true......I hate it even more that it was you that said it, I freaking hate how you did so. Every recollection of that conversation squeezes a bit of air out of my lungs......everytime I think of you I get this awful ripping sensation that starts from the pit of my stomach. You self-righteous bastard, I'm surprised you didn't get whiplash from making such a quick turnaround. I hate the fact that the hurt doesn't go away, I blame you for putting me in. A. Fucking. Emotional. Stalemate. Most of all, I desperately, absolutely want to HATE you for the smug existence you're living, for the scornful words I can't make myself forget..for the FEAR, the PARANOIA, of SEEING THE TWO OF YOU WHENEVER I GO OUT. I really want to bash that smug grin off your face, I really do. You asshole...you notice how I say "I want"? It's because (this is all. your. fucking. fault.) I won't want you to be unhappy either. I guess I still care about you even though you don't give a shit about me anymore. This is the thing that truly irks me at the end of the day......the self-loathing, the insecurity that resurfaces over and over again......like some eternal nightmare that doesn't end. It's gonna be a year soon, and if you know that I'm still NOT OVER IT, you'll probably laugh at me. But fuck you.


Neutral Tones

We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod,
—-They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.
Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles solved years ago;
And some words played between us to and fro-—
On which lost the more by our love.
The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing...
Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree,
And a pond edged with grayish leaves.
-- Thomas Hardy