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I shelved my aunt the same day I was shelved by my lover. Admittedly, her dismissal was more traumatic of the two. Later, when I cried for myself, I cried for her, too. She’s not on my coffee table any more, at least, but she’s hovering. She’s not overbearing about it; my guilt is.

Meaning.

As far as my own shelving, I’m surprised that after the initial upset, I am feeling fine. Mind you, I still feel conflicted as it wasn’t an outright rejection but an honest sort of halfway rejection, which makes no sense but is true anyway. He’s not ready for the next step, you see. As consolation, he says he’s going to cook me dinner. He said I was beautiful when I told him I felt ugly. He said he was so sorry. He had the balls to stick around when I started crying. I’m not sure of the duration of my weeping spell, but I suppose it’s quality not quantity that matters.

Meaning.

I’ve been thinking of getting rid of my old books. It seems so blasphemous since I’m a writer. I feel as though I’m betraying some code that insists you have a responsibility to the book once you read its secrets. I feel as though if I can navigate the passage to letting go, I will have made some sort of real progress in my life.

Meaning I am tortured by meaning.

Warning: pathetic girl-talk ahead.

I’m broken again and tired and waiting for a ding from my cell phone to validate my existence. The ding has come daily, but still I wait. This could be the day he doesn’t ding me. I think we can all agree the only thing worse than thinking you’ve lost interest in a man is when the man loses interest in you. I told him I wanted to see him this weekend. His reply: I’m sure we can manage that. This might be the most painful rejection I’ve ever heard.

This was most painful rejection besides that time that guy left the country without telling me or the time that guy told me he had no affection to give me or that time that guy said, “wanna cuddle?” or that time that guy told me he was “laid back,” which translated into his being lazy.

Another one shall bite the dust because there is no other option. I’ve read ahead. The story of us ends. For real. Soon. But not before I make the biggest fool out of myself ever. Or making the biggest fool of myself since all of the above-mentioned rejection menz.

Oh well, fuck it. This is the best part of love.

SOB with me

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