for the nth time, be on your way.

The last two conversations we had were reflective of how much regret I could’ve wasted on much more simpler things I enjoyed doing before I met you. See, it was better not knowing, not hearing anything from you, and you could’ve just left it at that.

I tested myself if the density of words I used to say to you held as much weight as it had in the past, but they tasted like bitter cough medicine I always ended up throwing up when I was little. And I’m no longer a child. In the very least, I’ve grown much faster the time I had with you.

You talked harshly about things that you think taint your oh-so-goody-image, pushing me to the gutter. The whole point of it is saving your ass.

How many pointless conversations should we have to make you realize that I am better than fine? I am in a much happier place now. And I have no intention of leaving it.