It’s getting crazier.
Last weekend I cried because he removed my account name from his Twitter bio. Fuck him, I’m the one who created his twitter account! And then I cried again when I drove pass his office building.
Angry, and sad, and angrier, and just sad sad sad.
Still hurt so much whenever I remember the tiny detail of his betrayal. The little lies he told, that what’s hurt the most. And the fact that he’s not even care, not even a little. Fuck him and his bitch.
One day I can be like a stupid brokenhearted teenager – getting drunk, smoke crack, got home at 3 am, sobbing in my sleep, curse him – may he rot in hell, may he has an STD and retarded children for all I care – make fun of him with my friend- the fact that he has a teeny weeny, really, if you can only perform for like 3 minutes, why bother cheating? Ha! – and then in the end crying like a little girl.
But the next day I can be like, praying 5 times a day, fasting on Monday – Thursday, pray for him to find a way of remorse.
I’m unstable that way. It’s like I’m getting dragged to the left and right. I do all I can to forget, to get out of my mind.
Life is never easy, but is always kind.
I’m making quite a good friend with people I didn’t even know until 3 weeks ago. I never have to sleep alone every night right after I caught him red-handed sleeping with that bitch. So many people support me, some share their sad story too.
And then there is this guy. Exactly 23 days after I broke up with him, a man – see I have to stress this point strongly, a MAN, not a boy – came to me, asking me to be his girlfriend, and if I want to, to be his wife. Even though I said no, it got me thinking, hell, if I want to, I still can get married within this year. Really, you can never know what life can bring you. I have nothing to worry about.
The fact that I’m not marrying him change a lot of things.
First, I don’t feel like wanna getting married this year. So it is true then, that I’m not the kind of girl who is eager to get married. It was just because I thought I already found the one. The fucking wrongest one, it turned out to be. The small wedding feast in Bandung that I always wanted, where there are only hundred or so closest friends, where we can make a footage of all of our friends giving testimony about us. Well, I don’t want that anymore. There’s no point having it if none of your friends came from the same circle.
How it would be different if I’m marrying him. The story, O, the story that we could tell. How we were first love to each other, how we met, how we loved, how we cared, would make an epic story for the grandkids.
He once said, to whatever end we come, I’ll make a story out of ours. And then he fucked another girl. Quite an epilogue, huh, Ze?
Well, Ze, try to make a story out of this one.