Ironic

What a pretty mess.

You show no guilt whatsoever. Instead, you say things that I can only dislike you even more for. I don’t know how you’ve grown so immune, so unfeeling, so selfish. You choose to speak about the gate first, always the chores and errands, always the things you have to do. Maybe that’s how you prioritise your conversations – work before a quasi-hearted mention/query about how we’re doing, coping, getting on with our lives.

But after that many similar conversations, i’ve come to realise that nothing takes priority over your affairs, not even the most difficult of circumstances, not even the most trying of times.

Last weekend, i couldn’t believe how vindictive you were, i couldn’t believe the allegations you made.

‘You’d have come back sooner if you really cared’.

After all that i’ve tried to do this past year and a half, i can’t believe you can even think that. You went straight at the monkey on my back.

This weekend it’s you being so brazen over what could be your biggest mistake. One that someone else has to pay for. I can’t find the tears this time.

I want to scream at you, to let it out like i did last week. The few days of radio silence did me good.

I’ll just listen to happy rock music instead, its a mockery of how fucked up things really are. I’m running away from you, sometimes i really can’t wait. It’s not going to help, but maybe we’ll be happy on most days.

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