You know, it’s funny. I keep telling myself that it doesn’t matter and that I didn’t really care and that it was the best for me. And it was the best for me. She didn’t really love me and she never knew that. When she was at my house and spent all of that time online with her best friend she couldn’t have truly loved me. And however it happened this way, she sees this as my fault; her and her best friend’s tag-team verbal stabbing. I stood on my own and I’m still the only one of my friends that I was done wrong by. She hates me still. Which means she still cares about me.
And me? Well I’m still licking my wounds while she rubs salt in them. Bragging on and on about her new boyfriend and how she’s moved on. Trying to make herself the hero and trying to establish a truce when she responded with rage and insolence to the idea when it was mine.
I need a clean break so that I don’t grow stunted.
And while I’m hurt, too, I don’t really know what to feel towards her. Hatred for the massive gash she ripped in my midriff? Sad and exhausted because of the way all of this bullshit ended? Or frustrated because she’s such a pansy that she couldn’t even speak to me without her best friend holding her hand every single step?
I don’t know. But I will tomorrow.
Because I have to see her for the first time since we parted ways.
