You’re engaged

And we haven’t talked in what, four years? Probably four years to the fucking day because I remember the Olympics was on then and it is now.

And I’m wondering whether to press send on the ‘Congratulations’ messaged I’ve typed on Facebook, that will go to your non friends folder thing, because as if we’re friends on fucking Facebook.

And I don’t even wanna say congratulations. Unless is a sarky as fuck congratulations.

The worst part is I know. I KNOW that we would not get on now. Or that we’d last. Or anything, we couldn’t be anything. But you still fucking own me. We haven’t been together for nine years. Nine fucking years. And yet I see your name or your face or someone from behind that could be you and I get so fucked up.

I know you still get the same train. The train I get once a week nowadays, and while I’m walking down that platform I look in every carriage window because you could be there.

This is ridiculous. I often think I must have wished to love you for-fucking-ever every time I was given a chance. Every shooting star. Every wishbone. Every fucking eyelash.

I should have been selfish, I should have wished you’d love me forever.

But you don’t.

You love him.

And now you’re engaged.