Why do I talk to him?
It only breaks my heart.
Why do people have to love each other?
Why can't it work out sometimes, even if they do?
From reading between the lines, I at least can see this hurts him some, which shouldn't be a comfort to me, but it is. When Jon told me all about this, we actually had a long, relatively deep conversation where he told me that the way he fucks with me makes him feel bad. And that made me feel good. As fucked as it is, every time I cry a fucking ocean for one of them, it's nice to think of them having a little pain too.
Men and women are so fucking foreign to each other. I can't look at it all and not see it as some cosmic joke. When he was here I couldn't stand him, now I miss him like fire. I don't even think that I would really want him back, yet I still do. The logical part of me that knows I was fighting with every day to breathe can't stand up to that loud screamy baby child that throws fits and wants her protector/daddy back where he belongs, here at home.
FUCK! Fuck the chemicals in my brain that made me love him, and fuck the ones that won't let me just erase him. Why can't this be easier? I wish love came with a warning label, although even if it did, i'm sure i'd ignore it just like that little strip on the cigarette pack that tells you not to smoke, but you do anyway, because the human animal is nothing if not obstinate and stubborn, especially if the face of that which is dangerous or foolhardy.
