Tell me, Dearly Beloved, when was the last time you wanted to sharpen a knife so badly? You want to know what my ex, that well-meaning jerk, told me earlier? I'm talking about Five-Year J, my first love haha, who I've written about numerous times before. Anyway, we are friends now, and we were texting when, in an uncommon display of vulnerability, I opened up to him. I said that I wish I could have something (or someone, I meant someone) to last me forever. He said I have my tattoos.
I was hoping he'd say something along the lines of "You just wait, you are the best thing ever, he will come soon, and he better hop to it on account of your awesome loving won't stay unloved for long." He said, and I quote, "You have your tattoos, hehehe."
I'm hurting here, fool. I could use some cheering up. Oh fuck it, feel free to sound distracted while you're dispensing with the fake encouragement, yes I'm still talking to you J, but I need to hear it from you. We were together for five years. And I don't know what it is, but I have this feeling, this gnawing gut feeling that I can count on you for a valid reassurance, perhaps a validating reassurance that everything will be alright.
Keep your panties on, love. I am not interested in you as a lover anymore. You were some of the best years of my life, but I have moved on. I have. I am rather pleased to the tits when you told me you got married to her. I imagine the doves shitting on your wedding cake, for it was a Real Ceremony with the bells and whistles and secret disputes over how ugly the other family is, and how both sides wish the baby gets most of its features from them because that is just the right and proper thing for the little bundle of shit.
I wish you two the best and worst of the married life in equal, sustaining measures. You're a good guy, J, and I mean that. You deserve the kind of permanence and care and the social acceptability that only she and her child-bearing hips can promise. You're the kind of guy that deserves a real family, alright, a conventional family to come home to. You have gone a long way. Think about it. You're no longer going home to your gay lover and his cat. The cat died last December, not that it's relevant, and I wish you well in your married life.
Yeah, please do not let that bitch mouth you into submission. You are the head of your acceptable family, J, and you keep it that way. When push comes to shove, and her nagging has risen to four frightening octaves, punch her on the boobs and cram that breast pump down her throat. That will shut her up, for sure. Show her who's boss.
I meant to say that I am happy for you, but I need you to tell me that everything's going to be alright. Need is a big word, and it is just the right size.I wanted you to tell me that there is some one out there for me, which is exactly what everybody has been telling me that it's rather ridiculous, but it means something coming from you. You know me. And by that, I mean you really know me.
I am exceedingly orgasmic that we are friends again, but I kind of hate you and your bad jokes. However, I did not expect what you texted next.
Andito naman ako eh. Magkaibigan naman tayo, diba? Alam ko naman mabait ka. Hindi kita kinalimutan. Ikaw lang ang kumalimot, tama ba?
"I'm here. We are friends, right? I know you're a good person. I will always remember you even if it seemed like you forgot about me."
|My two exes. The ex-lover and the ex-cat. And by ex-cat I mean he died in December 2013. I miss the cat more.|
This is exactly the validating reassurance that only your ex can promise. This, here, is what the ex is for. I do not wish to enlarge on this no more, for my panties are moist again, and I need a quick change. I'm okay now.