1. OH MY GOSH. You are just one annoying piece shit, damn.
2. You too, cunt. You're pretty, but not inside.
3. Ew. Pangit na nga ang face. You and your friends need to go away and stop ruining other people's lives. I feel bad for those girls you hurt.
Ugh, had to get that out of my system.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Heard It Through The Grapevine
I would just love to hear it from you first, please. Thanks.
One of the most awkward, discomforting feelings I encounter when I'm having a conversation about you is when that person asks me why I did not come with you to this restaurant or asks if I will be attending some sort of event that I didn't know about with you. It is so utterly mortifying to be standing there so fucking clueless, asking myself why you did not bother to tell me, to have the consideration to ask me, or to even breathe a word of it to my ear.
I can see why this happens though. You never text, you never call. You go throughout the day without a word. Even after the sun has set and we talk online, you're silent and idle. Your whereabouts are a mystery to me.
What's more embarrassing, or rather shameful, is my lack of attendance. Neither of us are at fault to for this however. But you know, it makes things appear and feel that I have not earned that title. It gives off the idea that perhaps there is this slight gap of separation, this bubble of chance that brings doubt or a compromise to the measurement of our closeness. And that ladies and gentlemen, gives suitors that slim but guaranteed potential to pry. This inevitable result added to the first issue only heightens my anxiety.
Now, I didn't mean to sort of diss you in the elevator that day, but I didn't know how else to say it. I'm sorry, I was a bit of bitch with my words. The truth of the matter is, that you did in fact fail to inform me. That is why your friend yelled at me in the library one day asking why I looked so sad.
The worst thing you could do is ask one of my closest to betray to her word and interrogate her about my own personal feelings. Cut the second-hand crap. If you want to know how I feel, ask me. Shit gets twisted that way. To fuel the fire even more don't get all smart assed about it saying you will tell me certain things because I was mad that one time. How the hell would you know I was mad? I wasn't. I was sad. NOW I'm mad because you're making up shit, so fuck you.
One of the most awkward, discomforting feelings I encounter when I'm having a conversation about you is when that person asks me why I did not come with you to this restaurant or asks if I will be attending some sort of event that I didn't know about with you. It is so utterly mortifying to be standing there so fucking clueless, asking myself why you did not bother to tell me, to have the consideration to ask me, or to even breathe a word of it to my ear.
I can see why this happens though. You never text, you never call. You go throughout the day without a word. Even after the sun has set and we talk online, you're silent and idle. Your whereabouts are a mystery to me.
What's more embarrassing, or rather shameful, is my lack of attendance. Neither of us are at fault to for this however. But you know, it makes things appear and feel that I have not earned that title. It gives off the idea that perhaps there is this slight gap of separation, this bubble of chance that brings doubt or a compromise to the measurement of our closeness. And that ladies and gentlemen, gives suitors that slim but guaranteed potential to pry. This inevitable result added to the first issue only heightens my anxiety.
Now, I didn't mean to sort of diss you in the elevator that day, but I didn't know how else to say it. I'm sorry, I was a bit of bitch with my words. The truth of the matter is, that you did in fact fail to inform me. That is why your friend yelled at me in the library one day asking why I looked so sad.
The worst thing you could do is ask one of my closest to betray to her word and interrogate her about my own personal feelings. Cut the second-hand crap. If you want to know how I feel, ask me. Shit gets twisted that way. To fuel the fire even more don't get all smart assed about it saying you will tell me certain things because I was mad that one time. How the hell would you know I was mad? I wasn't. I was sad. NOW I'm mad because you're making up shit, so fuck you.
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