Well, fuck
It's high time to admit that when it comes to love, I don't know jack.
(Hi Mikey, if you're reading this).
To resume, I really and truly don't know shit about love. There are so many instances where I think I do, I go off on a haze-induced cloud of denial and convince myself I have it right, this time. Well, hahaha. My own sense of romanticism makes me want to throw up all over myself, and spin my head counter-clockwise, Regan style. I think Jason can go fuck himself, but it doesn't stop there. He can take his clothes, his flowers, and my pinterest board with him, straight through a meat grinder. This love has been shot dead, and I am finally, FINALLY not crying over it. I put on my big girl pants, pulled my shit together. I deleted all methods of contacting him, and fantasized about my fist making contact with his throat. He's a little pussy bitch, and ain't nobody got time for that.
What's important now is the learning lesson. The lesson being that I should not, can not, will not be so quick to devote myself to another person again. I tripped and fell into this one, and I could have easily saved myself. No, I'm done with this overly romantic role I am so quick to adopt. The idea of marriage, which was tantalizing for a fleeting moment, is back on my puke-worthy list of things I don't care for. Fuck commitment. Fuck serious, monogamous relationships. Before I committed to Ray, I told myself I would date a bunch of people and not give a fuck. Before I committed to Jason, I told myself I would date a bunch of people and not give a fuck. Sensing a pattern here? Well, I've had my heart stomped on one too many times now, and I mean it this time around. I'm dating someone else already. I told him I didn't want to be exclusive, kissed him smack on the lips, and hunted a tattooed boy with gauges immediately after. Boys who want me for themselves can kiss my round, white ass right now. I need to do this.
(Hi Mikey, if you're reading this).
To resume, I really and truly don't know shit about love. There are so many instances where I think I do, I go off on a haze-induced cloud of denial and convince myself I have it right, this time. Well, hahaha. My own sense of romanticism makes me want to throw up all over myself, and spin my head counter-clockwise, Regan style. I think Jason can go fuck himself, but it doesn't stop there. He can take his clothes, his flowers, and my pinterest board with him, straight through a meat grinder. This love has been shot dead, and I am finally, FINALLY not crying over it. I put on my big girl pants, pulled my shit together. I deleted all methods of contacting him, and fantasized about my fist making contact with his throat. He's a little pussy bitch, and ain't nobody got time for that.
What's important now is the learning lesson. The lesson being that I should not, can not, will not be so quick to devote myself to another person again. I tripped and fell into this one, and I could have easily saved myself. No, I'm done with this overly romantic role I am so quick to adopt. The idea of marriage, which was tantalizing for a fleeting moment, is back on my puke-worthy list of things I don't care for. Fuck commitment. Fuck serious, monogamous relationships. Before I committed to Ray, I told myself I would date a bunch of people and not give a fuck. Before I committed to Jason, I told myself I would date a bunch of people and not give a fuck. Sensing a pattern here? Well, I've had my heart stomped on one too many times now, and I mean it this time around. I'm dating someone else already. I told him I didn't want to be exclusive, kissed him smack on the lips, and hunted a tattooed boy with gauges immediately after. Boys who want me for themselves can kiss my round, white ass right now. I need to do this.