Well, What A Load Of Faeces.

So, ex friend? May end up reading my blog thanks to the fact that I texted a friend of mine (who is at this party) and because she was too drunk to reply, she got him to. (I knew, knew it was from him. She doesn’t usually end her texts with a fullstop, and the tone rang of him. I just had such a sharp inkling…) Which means he saw the text containing the link to my blog telling her to read from the bottom up. (And it also means that he has indirectly texted me in over 4 months. Holy insert-whatever-expletive-you-like-here, my feelings.) Oops. Well, I’m not deleting all of this work I’ve put in and I am more or less completely over him. Hearing his voice in the background was a little painful, but I don’t give a damn. I think. Apologising to him was the best thing I ever did. The guilt I’ve felt for hurting him is finally over because I didn’t do it intentionally in the first place, and his conclusions were just a whole load of poppycock to begin with. But he knows how sorry I am, and now I know what a freed bird feels like.

I know him well enough to know that some of the things I’ve said will piss him right off and probably make him hate me more than he already does. And it’ll probably just confirm his ridiculous thought that I am obsessed and possessive of him. Oh well. Big woop. Doesn’t really change anything for me does it? Clearly, everyone he’s ever cared about, he’s been obsessed with, as it’s the only comparison he’s drawn on. (Okay, maybe that was a bit out of order, but this guy has hurt me just as much as I have hurt him and he refuses to consider the possibility. I at least can acknowledge the fact that I may have hurt him and pushed him away with my actions. And I would never have told another soul that I’d apologised to him either, if he hadn’t first. Wound after wound. Surly retorts are called for.)

So, if you’re reading this Badgerman: Heyyyyy, how’re you doing? I hope you’re having a jolly good life.  And yes, I’ve been speaking about you. And maybe I did quite conveniently not mention what I did in retaliation, but I only broke your trust after you had broken mine. Two months after. And only because you continued to accuse me of things when I’d finally dropped everything. That just makes us as bad as each other, but I will not forgive myself. There you go, I’ve mentioned it now. I am not a saint. I am the furthest thing from it. I am Mephistopheles! But at least you know, that I did actually give a damn about you. More than a damn actually. More than even I know to be frank. I meant everything I said in that apology. And I tried, so freaking hard, to see your side, and I do. The problem has always been, you refused to see mine.

(Now, I actually want him to read this, though I doubt he cares enough about me to be remotely curious. But his curiosity had also always been an insatiable thing. Why oh why am I so masochistic? And why oh why did I not just fall asleep at decent-o-clock and save myself this adrenaline rush that will surely be followed by misery? God, what are you doing to me?)

Looks like I’ve already failed to suppress my childish hormones, but it’s still the same day so fingers crossed that I am over this Tortoise when I wake tomorrow.

I think it would be quite apt to quote the Badgerman himself to end this little anecdote: “Others may be the architects of the situations in which you find yourself, but the ultimate decision is yours and yours alone.”

He used the word architect. Is it any wonder why I’ve craved his company so much? Yes, it probably is. But he’s right. My choices put me in this situation. He was the architect, but I didn’t have to panic the way I did, or burden him as much as I did. And I can still make a choice to move on and not give a damn as he does; to erase him so much, that I might as well have never cared for him, thought of him, and let’s finally admit it, love him in a mild sort of way. There, I said it. I’m not sure if it actually was love, but at times it felt as if it was on the verge. Don’t get me wrong. I am not stupid, I didn’t want to be in a relationship with him, ugh God no. We’d murder each other. But I was loyal to him. I cared about his happiness and sadness, and he made me happy like no other could. With his fountain of knowledge, excellently breath taking writing style, interest in the best of books, love for tea and the sheer amount of kindness he once felt for me, how could I not love him in any way at all? And here I am, lonely as ever. Well, other than my persistent ex, who is an ex for only one reason, (and a valid one at that.) What a load of faeces love and friendship can be. I’d cast an oath in my blood and swear it’s supposed to be otherwise…

This was meant to be a short keep-interested-readers-updated-or-potentially-run-the-ones-you-have-away, but uh, hasn’t turned out like that has it? Seriously, what is life if not a preponderous amount of failed plans? Ugh, shut up about him and life now, Suman. Bed time. And closure time. Enough. Bye Tortoise. I was right, I always am, but it was nice while it lasted. I bid you, my maybe-love, if you are truly here, and all of my readers adieu and a good night.

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