She does.
She said so.
I
miss her too. More than she knows.
No,
scratch that. She fucking knows.
She knows
exactly how much I miss her. She knows it's like losing a
hand, an
arm, a
leg. It's like having a piece of my
concious excised.
She knows.
I told her so.
I told him too, my
bestest friend.
I told him how much I miss him.
I told him exactly how many times I have stopped my
fist flying forward of its own
accord. How many times I've sat with
teeth clenched
and she sat in his lap
kissing
smiling
laughing.
They
know.
They don't
care, but they
know.
I told them so.
This fifteen seconds of
angst brought to you complements of two people I REALLY shouldn't talk to.
Ever.