OK, so, apparently he was depressed and apologised. His uncle's wife died as well. So, I had to email right back in order to send my condolences. I am a bitch, but I wasn't feeling like such a bitch this morning.
I had better shut up my mouth (or typing hands) completely. I have already sent one frigging desperate email. But I am not the same as I was two months ago. I am readying myself to die. I love Richard Armitage and Darren Hayes. I hate myself. My life has finished at 23.
There was one interesting fella on Shiamatch. 25, Toronto, Persian. VGSOH. Articulate. Shame, sometimes, that I am never getting married.
I think I need more Monty Python. Because M asked me what I was 'doing' these days. And there's nothing I can write in reply. He won't know what I am going through, if my own birth mother can't. If I can't.
Please (this is my sensible self talking to my ignorant, naive and romantic self) don't email him more than twice a month. Don't tell him anything personal about yourself except what he asks. Because you are really shitty to matter, right? He is not potential for anything. Friends do not make you happy.
You wouldn't even reply to him, but you're a nice person and responded to a nice email. You do NOT NEED him. Since you already washed your hands off of him, remember? He is of no use to you, you've not evolved with him. Except that you are thinking slightly extravertedly. But then again, that's what you're supposed to be when you hit 20. Maybe you're only 3 years behind, and not 8. That's a good sign.
See, you've already spent so much time typing and writing and thinking about someone who really doesn't mean a thing to you.
You're a fucking obssessive. Fucking twat.
I had better shut up my mouth (or typing hands) completely. I have already sent one frigging desperate email. But I am not the same as I was two months ago. I am readying myself to die. I love Richard Armitage and Darren Hayes. I hate myself. My life has finished at 23.
There was one interesting fella on Shiamatch. 25, Toronto, Persian. VGSOH. Articulate. Shame, sometimes, that I am never getting married.
I think I need more Monty Python. Because M asked me what I was 'doing' these days. And there's nothing I can write in reply. He won't know what I am going through, if my own birth mother can't. If I can't.
Please (this is my sensible self talking to my ignorant, naive and romantic self) don't email him more than twice a month. Don't tell him anything personal about yourself except what he asks. Because you are really shitty to matter, right? He is not potential for anything. Friends do not make you happy.
You wouldn't even reply to him, but you're a nice person and responded to a nice email. You do NOT NEED him. Since you already washed your hands off of him, remember? He is of no use to you, you've not evolved with him. Except that you are thinking slightly extravertedly. But then again, that's what you're supposed to be when you hit 20. Maybe you're only 3 years behind, and not 8. That's a good sign.
See, you've already spent so much time typing and writing and thinking about someone who really doesn't mean a thing to you.
You're a fucking obssessive. Fucking twat.
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