Sometimes it comes back. it just does.

There’s nothing i can do about it, and i’m left with that heavy feeling in my guts pushing to come on the surface.

Even months later, it comes back like a bad surprise during a pleasant trip to somewhere.

And it’s horrible to admit it to myself, but there’s nothing in the world would make me feel better than hearing of your failed attempt to be happy on the other side.

Fuck you “other side”, wherever that is. You’re so fucking far away from where i am now.

Fuck you for not needing me there.

Fuck you for not even sending me a line, a signal, a word during all these weeks, to make me daydream for a second that I still exist somewhere.

How fucking dare you making me desire you so much, and then disappear with the blink of an eye in your shitty mist made of false excuses.

my agonizing bowels after a heavy dinner are way more charming than that.