I guess it’s good, then, that I stopped contacting you. Friends, yeah, but don’t you still think I have wounds to heal up? And then you’re going to feel the need to ‘mock’ me for being ‘obsessed.’ Well try being original for once. There is nothing special about you after all, and you’ll feel me when I finally care my last care about you. I made us special. Not you. By the way- since you’re so into outward appearances- tell me how that worked out for you. Tell me now how you know that a good man is made up of more than vanity. Tell me how you are losing yours over time. Let me also tell you I still work out. I still work hard, and eventually I will find out how it is all done and I won’t give a s*** about you at that point. I don’t feel I do now. So tell me now how much you miss me. Then ask yourself if it seems like I still care either way. I guess the last time I should have cared to say anything to you is when you asked me if you should love him. That means one of you is fucked up, unless you fabricated the whole thing which still means you are fucked. So now- here I am. Free again. Good riddance.