After you, I will never fall in love again. I will live in a small cottage in the country with 3 dogs, a Siberian husky, a pug and a dalmation. We’ll sit in front of the television, wrapped up in the duvet not crying at romances that rarely exist in the real world. Eating ice cream and drinking wine like Cameron Diaz in the Holiday. Whilst you move on. Five years my elder- settle down in a modern house in the city, get married to a trophy wife in an apron, have kids- a girl and a boy. Continue to make love to your wife when you look ghastly irresistible in your police uniform, forgetting I ever existed.
The trouble with love is it turns you psycho. No, seriously in the space of 5 months I’ve transformed from a ‘you don’t like me? fuck you. You’re asking me to chase you fuck off. I don’t have a heart, don’t expect me to fall in love’ kinda person. To a pathetic, needy, weak, vulnerable cunt with an ash of dignity left to my name.
So I am in deep shit when we call quits.
Self destruction is shiteeeeeeeee
It’s ok to cry.
So long as when you’re done- you never cry over that same thing again.