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 ^{(it's beta!)}

So I tell her I’m tired of her being the only one allowed to make choices that seem stupid to others; I’m tired of her getting angry for things she would have laughed off in the past. We aren’t the same as we used to be and while we’ve helped one another grow, we haven’t quite twined together, there’s still time for us to get free from each other.

All it would take is truth.

Truth of anger, of lies, of betrayals and grudges, of flashes of hate that forever changed the purity of our friendship. Inconsistency, and that, perhaps, we don’t really understand each other and maybe, maybe we didn’t save each other. Maybe it was a one-sided effort because only one person worried about the state of affairs, one person just got angry.

All it would take is one back-handed slap to the ego.

You’re fat.

You’re bitchy.

You’re a slut.

You’re an elitist.

You’re scared of your future because you don’t know how to adapt.

And so are you.

But at least I know I’m scared.

You’re scared of anything that isn’t that fantasy in your head.

You’ve had more guys than most college girls.

You’re fucking celibate.

You’ve reached the point where you don’t even know how to recognize love if it spit in your face.

You don’t love.

You don’t understand.

You don’t want me to.

You never could.

Or perhaps a scathing rally of them, rapidly raining down on the smugly superior and utterly vindicated veneer of what you like to call your soul.

Hah.

And you say you’ll miss me.

Bitch.