(no subject)
I’ve spent my time, ever so quietly, pulling you out of me. Distant or indifferent you could say but don’t because that, honey, isn’t your style. Spitting angry words into calm conversations is more your thing, isn’t it? (That’s always frustrated me about you, truth be honest I wanted to have an effect on you, get more of a reaction out of you, out of you and into me. How delightfully narcissistic.) I withdrew in arrival of tonight, so that when it came it wouldn't smart so fucking much. Moral of this boring story, anyone?