A sock to the stomach. Shit. And I thought... Yes, but you thought wrong, didn't you? Or so it appears. A momentary mention. A set of meaningless words on a screen and the betrayal makes you sick.
What does she think she's doing? I don't understand, and yet I think I understand completely. Did you get someone else to gift you, my darling? Was someone else as generous as I was? Or did you just happen to be able to work it yourself? After the special-ness yesterday, today you are suddenly capable to find the ability. After your wound up mother and her anxious words, your apparent actions seem at complete odds. Do I understand you correct? Or am I reading too much into the reality that has been separating you from us for too long? Your pretty, young, stupid friends and their cliquey lives. Your mucked up group that you complain about and yet return to over and over and over...
Well then, pretty face, welcome to the human race! So easy to think yourself separate. Shame on the pride and the lies and the promises. Your pretty face and empty-full eyes won't save you the confusion and pain of an explanation this time. How many more times am I going to have to put in the effort before a hand is extended in reply?
The anger is not roaring. It's more a betrayal sick in my stomach, behind my tired eyes. Don't say you don't see me enough, my lovely. Just come and find me, I'm always here. Don't promise you'll make make it, my dear. Just turn up and let me enjoy your company. And don't tell me you have no ability to join us, my friend. Just tell me the truth. Don't let me find out for myself the extent of your love for us.
And I thought... Yes, you thought. But don't be surprised. It's happened before, you just didn't expect it at such an extent, did you? You'll have to face her on this one. Yes, you know it. Stop typing it up onto the screen. Just find a time to talk. Maybe you're wrong, against all evidence. And pray your relationship can uphold itself still. As, somehow, it continues to do, held up by the arms of your love.