No use crying over spilt milk
What is it with me and phone calls at the moment? I should just stop touching the phone. Let it gather dust until Matthew decides to into Spring Cleaning Fairy mode again. Let everyone else field the calls. I swear, I should've got caller ID installed months ago. I'm done.
I'm done? What the hell's that supposed to mean? I'm gonna call you up, tell you I wanna talk again and then bail when the going gets tough? That's not how it works!
We have one argument and she's done. That's it. Finished. Finito. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Done.
Well that's fine. I can take it. No use crying over spilt milk, right? This works out fine for me too. No more keeping my mouth shut about how she makes me feel. No more false hope. No more lies or misunderstandings.
I've spent so long trying not to fuck everyone's lives up. Watching my whack job mother and all her crack head boyfriends going at it in the kitchen, not saying anything because I didn't need her hating me. Stuck on a stench-filled bus, headed to Hell but knowing that anywhere was better than what I'd left behind. Screwing up Luke's life just by breathing. That's a hell of a lot of milk.
Meeting her. Letting her change my life. Messing with Dean's head, just so I could spend time with her. Basket. Basket maker…Guy who didn't bring enough money. $90 worth of time.
No more dance marathons. I can cope with that but that also means no more speeding heartbeats. No more stolen kisses. No more Rory. Oh god.
No more Rory.
