Day 4
Today was cold. Excrutiatingly cold. I was in the christmas concert which was good because it kept my mind off things. We sang some beautiful songs and had a bit of a laugh with the girls, its good to be able to laugh. But then as soon as I got in the car, the second I sat down, it all hit me like a brick. I don't know how it works, I have no control over it. My hands are tied behind my back with my own emotions.
He contacted me. He wants to talk. About our "Friendship." But what friendship? We have never been friends, it has always been more. Five years. Even if I had boyfriends, we would be more than friends - just not physically. So why. How could we possibly convert into lies of ourselves now? "We aren't good at being friends," you were right, so why bother. He loves her. I think he does love her. Saviour - what does that mean? She saved him? Yes, from some deceitful, cold whore. Or he's her saviour? If that's it, at least some good came out of all this. She is such a nice girl, and doesn't deserve all the shit she told me about. Last night I did something I never thought I would do to anyone. The Initials. Lauren knows but no one else. She is being the most amazing friend, I'm probably wrong, but I feel I can tell her exactly whats going on without her getting bored of listening or sick of trying to help. The Initials. Bold and bright, now I'll never lose them.
Nothing. Argh, how am I still thinking about this? Its contaminated my thoughts, I seem to see everything through tinted glasses and each detail drags me by the ankles back to you. Was it smoking? If he thought I wouldn't quit for him if he'd asked me, then it turns out that I must be a complete stranger. Had he asked, I would drop it there and then and never look at another cigarette again. I'm being stupid. Was it my hair? He wasn't sure. My clothes? Even less sure. I don't know. My appetite has done a 360, I've gone from eating nothing to eating everything, stuffing food into my mouth to fill the empty space until I feel sick.
You're calling. To tell me you do not love me.
He probably won't ever love me again.
He's happy, why can't I be?
He's finally not alone, I need to let him free.
He's sorry for the Nothing.
He's sorry for the lies.
He's sorry for pretending.
He's sorry. He loves me.
He doesn't. The Initials.
At least they're there to remind me it was real once. I think I'm beginning to accept that this is my fault and I can't blame him for everything. Mememememe. Do I pick up, what do I say?
How am I. How could I explain to you. Over the phone. In words. Without sounding completely insane. Hearing your voice will kill me. I will break down ten times worse than in the last four days, I know it. And what you say will undoubtably slice me up inside. My head drones just thinking about it all. I don't know what I will do. I have 15 minutes.
Goodnight.
I doubt anyone reads this so its relieving to be able to write everything bluntly.
Still, I love you.
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