You could tell me and I wouldn't believe you.
My mum worries about me. She calls me again and again.
"Why are you calling me so much?" I ask.
"Because you're alone and I worry about you. Why don't you come over?"
"I'm okay. I don't want to. I have a lot of things to do. Please don't call me again."
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't appreciate it. I do.
It's just that I don't know why you make me so angry.
I really don't. I don't understand. We haven't spoken in seven years, and I believe what you said to me was "I don't owe you anything". So I shouldn't care about you, right? I've moved on. You've moved on, I guess - you moved on long before I did, maybe? Is that it? Is that why you make me so angry?
I don't know. I really don't.
And so they're all like "so it didn't work out between you guys, it doesn't mean he's a bad person, he's good at heart."
NO. I scream. NO, NO HE'S NOT!
Why do I care about what they think about you?
Why have I suddenly regressed into the lonely, abandoned 22 year old I once was; I thought we would never meet again. I thought I was better than this, stronger.
And then it turned out that I wasn't. But why wasn't I? I should be, everything around me says that I should. But I'm not.
And I just want to do what I do best: run the fuck away.