tonight i downloaded a new album on the vaguest recommendation from a friendly acquaintance. two tracks in, i realized that you would love it, and experienced an unexpected surge of sadness. it was so surprising that i stopped and stared at the ceiling for a while. i haven't felt regretful or sorry over you or what happened for months. i've been too busy being angry. this rage has been burning just under my lungs for a year, a bonfire built on logs of sorrow, spitting out clouds of hatred.
you deserve it, and i still have no sympathy for you, but the unwilling recall of the affection that was tied into every music recommendation we tossed back and forth was a strong wind against the fire. memories of the joy of shared passion became a tiny needle through the callus of "fuck you i hate you i hate you", digging into the still-soft skin underneath. the pain only really lasted for a second but its ghost lingered as a hole in the flesh, leaving room for more and more fond nostalgia to leak through.
it was enough to rekindle the blaze immediately. happy memories don't make me happy; they only hurt me. it's one of my many character flaws.
(look, yes: i wondered, for a moment, what you would think of how i'm living now, but the flames began to lick my ribcage again and i answered my silent inquiry with a vicious whisper: "i don't fucking care.")
as i listened further i considered sending it to you anyway, but i knew i wouldn't. part of the reasoning was healthy: i already gave too much when you were still around. i definitely shouldn't continue to give when you aren't. mostly, though, i know that i could come to love this album, and i'm selfish. i don't want you to have any of the things i love anymore.