Remember when I said I was done? Three days ago? I REALLY meant that I can never let anything die.  Ever. 

I started it.  Without the expectation of a response, I sent a text into the void.  A therapy of sorts.  Similar to blogging: write emotions, press send, don’t expect anyone to pay attention.  Shockingly, I received a response: he called, something he has not done sober for weeks, and with great satisfaction I pressed my cell’s ignore button.  Quite empowering.  A few minutes later, unable to let it die or keep my upper-hand, I sent a text:

“You need something or just calling to tell me to leave you alone”

And so began our evening of texting.  To his credit, he never denied the prominence of her in his life, regardless of my low blows, but then he never admitted anything either.  Evaded issues, evaded answers. 
 
At my weakest moment, I wrote, “Just please don’t love her yet”
 
“Can’t”
 
“But you will soon.  You fall hard and quick and its already been almost six months with her”
 
“I fell hard and quick for you, retard, you are special” (which is to be taken as an endearment, even more than when he calls me sweethaht with his Boston accent …)
 
“Yes, but you picked her so she must be more special”  

“You’re an idiot”
 
“I am logical”
 
“Since when?  But I am not nor will I ever be over you”
 
He fucked up.  He knows he did.  He’s now just playing the hand he dealt himself.  Which is my way of an explanation, not an excuse.  The two years of long distance and the accompanying loneliness also constitute as explanations.  Even though he’s holding a losing hand, I wonder if he’ll just bluff his way through the rest of his life.  He didn’t make the effort to fight for me, I doubt he will go through the effort of finding someone other than her.  I am discounted as just another loss. 

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