Taking it Well...

Family party. It's not so bad to stand there, just that I feel so shitty next to all the cousins in my generation, currrently enjoying these meaningful relationships.

It isn't being alone. Alone I can handle. It's more the number of times I've been burned so badly...

If I weren't alone, I could deal with it. But to think that it happened AGAIN... and he had nerve to talk about how he still loved and missed her... did you think of her whilst we were together? Did you look at me and see her face? Did you somehow hope I'd replace any want of her still left in you? Like I'd cover the stain of her memory... Apparently not.

Of all the people that let me down,... it's always the ones you gave nothing but truth.

I feel sometimes, I've got the black cloud. It always happens like this... how many more weddings do I have to endure where I'm not the bride but the former girlfriend of the groom... sad and alone. It isn;t fair he should be able to move on and replace me so easily and my darkness looms on whilst he dances on in sunshine. And I don;t need his lousy pity, his friendship, I've got enough friends. I don;t need his pathetic emails talking about truth and being upfront or however he'd like to mask the awful situation. Why do men think they're doing you a favor?

I've been down this road before. Surely, I'm used to dissappointments now.

Oh, but it kills to see her flaunting that cheap bracelet in my face. I've dated men with twice the finesse, money, and taste than anything she's ever had but it kills to know she and everyone else is out there in the sunshine and here I am... again, breaking down. You have no idea, sometimes I think I've repaid Karma several times over for whatever sin I committed. I've buried, I've broken engagement, I've been left behind, I've been used and taken for granted and cheated and God knows what else.

Part of me wishes to take that job simply to spite those people. Awful, writhing lying cheats, I'm richer, prettier, and smarter than that Eurotrash you're with. Watch me rise up and you get used for a green card. I hope she leaves your ass and makes you feel used like me. I hope she calls you the wrong name. I hope YOU TELL HER MY NAME WAS CASEY. I HOPE YOU TELL HER HOW YOU NO LONGER LOVED HER, HOW IT WAS ALL A FANTASY OF YOUTH OR WHATEVER BULLSHIT YOU TOLD ME.

I hope when I pass you by in the London streets, you tell her, you missed your chance. And as my driver passes you by, you get splashed, adding onto you the dirt you traded over for my memory.

You obviously weren't who I thought you were.

I hope you're not reading this, you aren't worth my better emotions. If you see me in the streets, know better than to talk to me. Keep walking away, and do it quick. You're good at that! You who died, you who moved to Shanghai, you who walked away leaving me on that train to sit there knowing what came next.

I'm going to beat this.





At the party, my aunt told me, I resemble a great aunt of my mothers, a woman who died at 21 of a heart condition.

I can't help but wonder, isn't it odd how history repeats itself?