hunginn

I still talk to her... still see her on a fairly consitent basis. Even went to a turky day party with her and a few of my other friends. I try not to think at these times, because thinking causes me to not smile. I don't think about how horrible her timing was, when as I was at pretty much the worst point possible in my life. She made it worse.

So we still talk. We're "friends." Like it never even happened. And I play up to it... y'know, doing the "mature" thing and just accepting it. I guess I'm a better actor than I thought... I'm almost fooling myself.

I hate when she compliments me. Especially when she uses words than end in "-est." Nicest. Sweetest. Best. Obviously fucking not, bitch.

But I just have to not think about it. I have to not think about the fact that when she's talking to me, those lips that are espousing what-the-fuck-ever are going to be merrily wrapped around another guy's cock later that day. Or it could've been earlier. Likely both.

I just hate it. And I hate that I hate it, because that means it's taking up emotional effort. It means that she's still significant in my mind somehow, and I don't want that. I can't stand being around her, talking to her, hugging her, smiling at her... and some fucked up part of my mind still wants to do all of that. That part needs to die... but it also needs to stay alive, to fight the part of my mind that wants her to suffer. I know I don't want that either, and I'm ashamed that any emotional pain she goes through makes me smirk to myself.

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But no, it doesn't bother me.
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I think I'll go throw on The Cure for a while.
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Fuck you, Lord Tennyson.