…and if you knew that, our relationship wouldn’t exist outside of bitterness and regret. You’d think I don’t love you. And I do. Sometimes. Maybe. But that’s not the point.
The point is, is that everytime you say how fucking awesome your life is, how you LOVE YOUR LIFE, how fantastic everything is…Guess what? I’m not happy for you. I resent you for it. I *hate* you for it. Because I was supposed to be there with you, y’know? I was supposed to be having a good time, too.
Do you know what I’m going to be doing tomorrow, while you’re getting smashed with your friends and co-workers? I’m going to be dealing with tourists in my tiny little coffee shop. Minimum wage and minimal tips. You’re going to call me, two hours into your drinking session, to profess your undying love to me. And I won’t answer with a “Fuck You” and hang up, regardless of how much I want to. But I might not answer at all.
When I say I miss you, I’m not lying. But you’ve turned me into an emotional trainwreck. I know you don’t need me as much as you like to think you do. But I’m scared to think that I need you. Not because I love you, but because I’m scared to do this shit on my own. I’m glad to know that you love your life. You deserve it, you really do. And maybe someday, before I see you next, you’ll come to the realization that you love your life…without me. So, my dear, I love you, I miss you, and fuck you. So hard.