Spitting is not something I’m usually inclined to do. Saliva is horrifying. 
And yet. That is how I’m feeling about you. 

But how can it be that, after all of the understanding I’ve come to… Your birthday came and I let down my guard and had to pour a little bit of the good me back into you? Why did I do it?
It was because I didn’t need anything back. A birthday greeting of the true form is something that you give, without expecting anything in return because it is for that person’s day. (This is, of course, assuming that you’re not the manipulative, obligatory, calculating kind that only gives gifts in accordance to those you receive from.) I was able to remember only, vividly, on that birthday the other birthdays and cakes and sweaters and … tried to convey it.   
And he responded with daggers.
I am hurt. 
Alas.
He received my gift as tepid and insincere. Did he find me out?
No. Because truly deeply I wanted to hand him back a little something in a reminder of what we used to share in intimacy and affection. It was there, sometime. Some time ago. 
But no. 
So then he prodded and poked and I called him a martyr and he threw it back in my fact rhetorically. 

PM:
I didn’t ask you how you were because i (rightly) didnt expect a response.

Maybe that’s being a martyr, but so is not talking to me.

Ray:

Of course you didn’t get a response bc how am I to respond to such blatant self pity? Christ. Well calculated. You really are a fortune teller. 

I’m not talking to you bc you make me feel shitty. So when you stop doing that (like dumping your ‘no one will love me or even bone me on vdayyy’ moaning on me) then I’ll be happy to know you. A bientot.

 

No response.
I hope one never comes. 

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