I want to go to the bathroom, lock myself in a cubicle before just crying myself until I'm a puddle of self pity on the tiles.
19 more days. And I'm supposed to be free.
Wake up with a happy ass smile and maybe a sunshine bright attitude with perhaps a slight memory loss.
Fuck no. I have more chance to see my brother dancing to a Justin Bieber song than that happening.
The one third rule? I don't believe in it.
I heard of the month per year rule before. If the one third rule doesn't work, like fucking hell the second rule would work.
I've learnt how to be a freaking hypocrite. To smile and act fuckity fuck about it. I've managed to meh things away when people show the faintest trace of pity.
And I've stopped the nightly memory lane strolls.
But fuck fuck fuck.
I think the bathroom visit is needed.
Then it will be time to kill the person who coined the phrase
Its better to love and lost than to never love at all.
Yeah, I said I'm happy for you. And I wished you luck. Thank fuck for texting benefits. You couldn't see the tears I blinked away. Or the pain on my face.