She Was Sea

It bothers me, it bothers me so much that after everything that went down you still find it okay to be friends with my friends. After everything you’ve said at me, you find it okay to be coy with my friends. You find it okay to comment silly cute things on my best friends Instagram. You had the courage to wish me on my birthday, even indirectly eleven minutes past twelve. I was over the moon to wake up and find the screenshot, at first. I wanted to say Thank You, but instead I replied “It took him 11 minutes, to wish me? What’s wrong with him. Does he really think the weird and disturbed gold digger deserves a Happy Birthday? Not another fuck in the ass? Balaaeh.” And then I said to my friend how I didn’t understand she could be so cool with him, not after how he turned things around.

That’s when I realized, I don’t hate him. Not even a bit, not even at all. When I really should be outraged and furious at him, I am not. When he should be furious at me, he’s not. A part of him isn’t, if not he’d have never wished me. So how can I expect my friends to remember all the shit he said at me when even I don’t mind it. How fucked up is that. My friends only remember how much he means to me. He truly means the most to me. No matter how horribly we’ve ruined each other and everything around for us. He’s still special, so fucking special.

But later in the conversation he had asked her to not pass the message, that he’s had a change of heart, when she replied it was too late, he replied “Shit.” Well damn right, it’s shit. Everyone expects us to be going in circles but this time it’s different. It has to be. We’re never going to forgive each other, ever.

And here I am going over everything @ 9 am on my 23rd fucking Birthday while listening to “To Bid You Farewell by Opeth.”