I'm standing there alone, because as usual Feliks insisted that I had to, just had to go with him, and I know why - he's always so shy and practically hides behind me, until somebody has been chatting him up for a while and then it's like they're the best of friends. So I'm standing there alone and trying to keep an eye on Feliks and wishing I could go home because parties are not my thing, and there you are.
And right about then is when I think maybe I've had too much to drink but maybe it's because vodka's my favorite too - it was long before you - but it reminds me of you anyway.
And I know you're watching me across the room, even though every time I look at you you're carefully not looking at me.
And I remind myself that there are very good reasons why we broke up and that if I didn't feel sorry for you I would have left even before I did. Because you're fucked up and it's not your fault but it's not mine either and I can't deal with it anymore. And I tell myself that again and again
and still, when I wake up next to you in the morning, I smile, and I don't feel bad about it until I start to think about whether anyone saw me leave with you, and what you'll think if I'm gone when you wake up. I know you're better lately with the meds but I don't think I want to risk going down that road again. I don't know if better is good enough.
Am I an idiot or are they wrong about you? I don't know.
So I was going to leave this note on the pillow and try to explain but I don't think I've explained anything. So I'm going to go put the kettle on and by the time it whistles and wakes you up I will be gone and this note will be in my pocket and you won't ever read it.
But I guess you and I both know I'll see you later. Sooner or later.
This happens sometimes, at parties:
I'm standing there alone, because as usual Feliks insisted that I had to, just had to go with him, and I know why - he's always so shy and practically hides behind me, until somebody has been chatting him up for a while and then it's like they're the best of friends. So I'm standing there alone and trying to keep an eye on Feliks and wishing I could go home because parties are not my thing, and there you are.
And right about then is when I think maybe I've had too much to drink but maybe it's because vodka's my favorite too - it was long before you - but it reminds me of you anyway.
And I know you're watching me across the room, even though every time I look at you you're carefully not looking at me.
And I remind myself that there are very good reasons why we broke up and that if I didn't feel sorry for you I would have left even before I did. Because you're fucked up and it's not your fault but it's not mine either and I can't deal with it anymore. And I tell myself that again and again
and still, when I wake up next to you in the morning, I smile, and I don't feel bad about it until I start to think about whether anyone saw me leave with you, and what you'll think if I'm gone when you wake up. I know you're better lately with the meds but I don't think I want to risk going down that road again. I don't know if better is good enough.
Am I an idiot or are they wrong about you? I don't know.
So I was going to leave this note on the pillow and try to explain but I don't think I've explained anything. So I'm going to go put the kettle on and by the time it whistles and wakes you up I will be gone and this note will be in my pocket and you won't ever read it.
But I guess you and I both know I'll see you later. Sooner or later.
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I love you, anon.
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