Josie is the Opposite of Hallelujah

The hardest-learned lesson, is that people have only their kind of love to give, not our kind.

So here I am again, hoping that these jotted over-emotional words will soon be devoid of meaning.

He called last Sunday.
I picked up.
I shouldn’t have.
Did her lips taste as sweet?
Do our love bites match?

This would be easier if you didn’t make me quite so fucking happy. At least for some of the better halves of it. Lying in bed filthy till the late morning, holding hands, looking at the ceiling and drifting in and out of sleep. Too much money spent on eating and drinking on your dirty bedspread, looking at pictures in your stupid foreign magazines not understanding a word of it. Too much time wasted on you being my what could have been.

The truth is I did see this cancerous relationship coming to an end, like the terminally ill waiting for death. I have problems with stretching out bad situations thin. We both do it seems. The dreadful waiting, and waiting and waiting. I think at least I knew torture when I saw it. At least I knew when to quit.

For the benefit of my readers, there will officially be no further mentions of we on this blog, with the exception of forlorn reminisces of a hollowed past. Shit, I hate that you know I’m really going to miss this. Sorry I couldn’t be your fire starter, puppy.