let me just spill here for a moment. spilled milk. split.

About three days ago. Never mind that they've only known each other for a little less than six months. Dated for a little more than four.

I could really use a Meisner session. Or some Rasa time.

These moments are always hushed, muted; about this time of night, when the other two are asleep and do not deserve to be burdened with the awkwardness that is crying behind a closed door.

And fuck, I know it's not the end of the world, not even the end of mine. But allow me to give in to the feeling that it is, alright? Can I just have that? For a little while? I promise I'll buck up and head straight through everything else with my head held high, eyes to the sunshine, although I can't look straight at it or else I'd be blinded and

Fuck. Fuck it. Fuck this. I don't want to do this. I'm so fucking pathetic like this. I have little motivation to do anything. I’m wasting time. So much time I could spend not lamenting like this. About this. This should be nothing.

But it doesn’t feel like nothing. It’s not. Nothing. I hate this.