You think. About her. You’d really rather not, but there’re no distractions.
There’s that really, really, fucking, incredibly, fantabulously angry bit of you which just wants to emotionally torture her for ever and ever. That bit’s scarily large.
And you envision how your next conversation with her must go:
The setting, ideally should be just the two of you (don’t want to make a scene, after all, you see?). You tell her you need to get away from her.
“Why?”, she asks, rather dramatically.
Because you do not believe that you can control your anger, and anger makes you do stupid things like hurt her, which, though, sadistically speaking, is fun, also is quite grosely wrong.
And you hope she remembers your anger.
But there’s that nagging little bit at the back that really wants to make her pay a bit for all that she’s put you through and the sadistic side wins out and you continue:
And you tell her that you’re a fool for believing in ‘their undying love’ that they had promised each other. You tell her of a decision you had made to defy your parents because you loved her and you thought she loved you too and the daily promises made of “love forever” would not be broken, at any cost.
You tell her that you suspect a lot of what is going on, shaking your head. For you are almost certain, based on how you two had started, and based on certain admissions, that a lot is happening that she’s not telling him about.
And you lower your head and shake it, and mention that you really really hope that she’s happy, because, secretly you think in the back of your mind: I know how we ended too.
And you feel utterly violated, for the acts born of anger, no matter how satisfying, cannot be undone.
Attrition benefits no-one.
Ignorance is bliss.
Forget – Yes/No.
Forgive – Yes/No.
The eternal battle affects us all and we are caught in between in a cloud of probability.
– Aquoteiwi Shexisted.