It's been three months now, three months since we started speaking again, three months since we started texting again, three months since we started seeing each other again, and three months since we started again. . .or so I thought. Truth be told it was my brand of miracle, hearing from you again on the eve of the first day of that competition I dearly hold, and our seemingly cheesy relapse into what we had years before, akin to some dude's resurrection. I threw all rationality out of the window, jumping wildly into that dark chasm with only the vague promise of having you again sustaining me. It fueled me, it empowered me, it gave me direction, and for the weeks that followed, I was fixated into that thought and that thought only.
Then again, I knew it was too good to be true. Soon enough, we were in that oddly familiar situation, with you dumping me and I trying to hold on. It ended badly, again. For the second time, you lead me on and left me hanging in the end. You can't even agree to have a final word and you even used almost exactly the same bullshit you said when you first dumped me. I was left speechless, I felt hurt, distraught and desperate even. I felt like I was the lowliest of all creatures, crawling on muck and shit on the deepest corners of this world. What made it worse was that I would know a few weeks later that what "we" "had" this time was built on lies. From the beginning, until the end, there was at least one instance where you lied, as I would only later know. And yeah, you're a pretty bad liar, and I was stupid enough to believe in you. . .again and it proved to be my final straw.
I fixed my resolve, I knew that looking back would only mean that I was being pathetic again, and that I only had one direction to move toward to: forward. I focused on that idea, even having it as a resolution for the new year, and it seems to have worked, in one way or another at the very least. Now, even as rumors of you have been reaching me, I feel nothing, I am indifferent. I am myself once again.