fuck you. fuck you and your selfish fucking ‘i’m too busy to do more than brush you off’ attitude. i wish i were close enough to slap you into the fucking floor for treating me like a god damned disposable piece of trash.
oh yeah, you think so much of me. oh yeah, you care for me. oh yeah, you admire and cherish me. oh yeah, i’m your friend. that’s why you can’t fucking be bothered for more than three sentences in a fucking month. that’s why any time there’s any interaction with you, you just can’t help but be as completely aloof as humanly fucking possible.
and please, spare me the fucking excuses. you think you’re the only one in the fucking world who has a family? a job? struggles? challenges? gee, you know, somehow, despite having been up and down the fucking hills of life over the last two years, i have managed to stay in touch with you regularly and communicate active care of and for you and what is happening with you.
and every time i do, the most you can manage is to remind me, yet again, that there’s a list and i’m on the fucking bottom of it.
am i supposed to think it’s terribly difficult to manage? that, somehow, you are unable to do so? no, sorry, not buying that. i know better, so do you. and we both know that if you treated anyone else in your life this way, they wouldn’t BE in your life. and i remember now why i finally decided to have done with you. the only question is…
why the bloody fucking hell did i think to change my mind?
and you know what? i have no fucking idea.