We progressed to calling each other the kind of names shared by drunk texters, and we shouldn't have because I started waiting for your texts. I knew then that something's not right. You don't usually text, though, you call, and I looked forward to those too with a smile in my heart. I shouldn't have. I was confident that I've gotten over wasteful shit like what we were going through then. You shouldn't have given me flowers. You shouldn't have encouraged me.
You shouldn't have. Now I'm a mess. I'm a haggard mess because I'm trying to impress some guy in prison. This isn't easy, you see. There is no way in hell that three visits in a work week is healthy. They aren't. It's not easy to be all friendly and shit towards turd figures of authority who call you names and ask a lot of bullshit and call you sexy while they're moving their hands up and down your waist and ass. It's not easy to be all smiles and cheer because I just got home from a nine hour shift. It's not easy to spend less on myself because I wanted to spend more on his food and his toiletries and his groceries. I had no fucking idea that they charge fifty pesos per visit. Hell yes.
I had no idea that I'll be going all out for someone now this time last year. What makes it worse, though, is that I'm doing this under the pretense that I'm trying to get to know him better. What I know so far is that he tested negative, and that he seems nice, and that I'm still a hundred percent doubtful. I do know for a God Damned fact that this will not work out. I don't doubt the familiar hurt that's just waiting to pounce on me and grip my heart between its saber teeth. I'm losing sleep now, and I'm losing weight too, and I'm always tired, and this never happened before you encouraged those hijo de la gran puta feelings.
I'm sorry but I sort of hate you now for giving me flowers this day last year. I was happier before you did that. For real.