The Kid From Boston called last night.  Called because he was miserable and depressed and I was the only one who could possibly understand.  I oddly found comfort in the call, liked knowing he was going through my same emotions. 

Until I asked about her

They are dating.  Again.  He has returned to dating the girl who was his new beginning and, consequently, my world’s complete demolition.  The girlfriend he never told me about, never had to; we live in different states. 

Which would somehow be a hell of a lot easier to handle if he didn’t text me and ruin the new world I am busy constructing … when I have convinced myself that we weren’t meant to be and better things are yet to come, he jackhammers away the fragile walls by writing, “No, we were and I killed it and I hate myself for it.”

“It’s been a long time coming, maybe you didn’t kill it but ended the suffering.”

“I just finally get it.  You made life worth living.”

“You didn’t think that while you had me.  You’re just lonely right now.”

“Just find someone who treats every second with you like a gift from God.  Which is what life with you was.  I was just too stupid.”

I guess I find some solace in her not being up to my measure.  

Ok, that’s complete bullshit. 

I have been replaced and someone else gets to kiss the guy and laugh with the guy that I still love.  No matter how much anger I can fester and how miserable he claims to be, it’s unfair.  I still want to be the one to move on first. 

Living well is not a good enough revenge, I want to live better than him.  Can I make this into a competition?  I want a kickass life while he gets fat and his toenails turn green.  Oh?  Who are you again?  I’m sorry, I can’t talk to you right now because I am too busy laughing.  My life is so wonderful  (insert head toss of luxurious hair and pivot in Prada pumps). 

Laughter might just be the official language of my new world … And even if it translates to grief, I will be the only one fluent to decipher.