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Thursday, 20 February 2014

"I can't, actually"

A bloody week later, EBF responds... "what?" A few lines back and forth reveal "I'm so sorry! I've been very busy! I promise I'll have time next week and we'll talk then." Like fuck we will. 

I'm pretty sure if it weren't for the SSRI I would probably be a slobbering mess right now because even just receiving messages from EBF makes my heart race. Fucking Pavlovian response. I may be over-cynical but he hasn't been this busy for this many years. I'm too much of a coward to just say "Fuck you. I'd rather not talk to you at all anymore." Instead I'm just patiently going to wait until next week to tell myself "I told you so." And cry then. And tonight, most likely. 

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