You confuse me. Nope, I take that back already, because you don't confuse me at all, I actually do understand you completely. I understand at least our situation completely. I only say you confuse me because that is what I want to believe. I want to think I'm feeling this way because I don't understand what you want, but I do understand.

This is the truth right here, right now; I repeat it to myself over and over. You don't like me for anything more than my body. I know this. I have known this for a long time. You will never attempt to get to know me better, thus nothing will ever grow between us leading to us never falling in love. There is nothing. We have nothing in common, I know.

You hate horror movies, you hate the songs I like, you hate fast food, you hate my friends, you hate everything about me besides the fact that I have had a crush on you forever and you know I'm easy to play. I am nothing to you. We are not friends, we've never been friends, and we won't ever be friends.

I thought I was fine, I thought that I didn't care at all that we'd finally slept together. I was totally amazed by my reaction to it, I was so proud of myself for not caring. I thought I'd just proved to the entire world that I can handle this casual sex thing, but I don't know anymore...I saw you tonight with that girl I recognize but can never remember her name. You know, one of those girls. When you live in a little suburb of Vancouver, you know everyone in your city and when you go to a really busy pub in the center of your city, you're going to see your entire grad class and then some, multiplied by 10. She's just one of those girls who you think maybe went to your high school a grade or two below you, maybe you played softball or soccer with and/or against her, maybe she's a friend of your friend or your friend's sister...she's someone. She's really pretty. I saw you with her, not with necessarily but somewhat with, standing next to her in line. I could tell you were flirting, and the jealous rage started.

I talked myself out of it at first. Baby, come on, jealous rage over him? That's just silly, you don't care, remember? Then sinks in the reality that apparently, you do care on some level. Next thing you know you're leaving the pub to go for coffee and find out that according to your best friend who always seems to accidently-on-purpose not tell you important things, that you really do like this Pretty Someone and you were all excited about hanging out with her on the weekend.

You were excited to hang out with her?

I guess I will never really understand exactly what it is you don't like about me, why I will never be the girl you want to hang out with and always the girl you'll call over to fuck for a night then not acknowledge in public. I don't know if I want to know. Part of me does, most of me doesn't.

You are bad for me. I have nothing else to say. I can't believe I cried over you, because I have known this for years. You don't like me, fuck you don't even know me, because you don't care enough to know me. It hurts.

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