I'd never admit it to your face, but I'm still hung up on you a little. You don't give me heartache like you used to, but every time I dress particularly well and have my hair done particularly nicely, I think, "I wish you could see me today, because then you'd know how well I'm doing." Which, of course, is ironic, because if I'm really doing that well, I wouldn't need to prove it to you.
I'm on the upswing and so far you haven't damaged me as much as I thought you would have, so I'm sorry for overreacting like I did. Still, I wish I didn't think about you every time I filed my nails, ironed my t-shirts and jeans, and scrubbed behind my ears (stuff I know you notice and care about). I suppose I'm grateful you've inspired me be trimmer, neater, and cleaner, at least.
Related Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment
Be nice, mmmmkay? I allow anonymous comments, but not anonymous (or even attributed) douchebaggery. The Gay Mormon Pioneer's tolerance for hate and venom are incredibly low, but his love of communication and debate are high, so have an opinion, but be kind and gentle when you share it.