Fucking Friday

#1: I don't care that you've lost 5 more pounds. I don't care that you dropped clothes sizes. I don't care that you're going to run a 5K tomorrow. And I really, really, really do not give a shit about your pathetic excuse for a fuck tested negative for STDs. Do you expect me to jump up and down and squeal and wave my hands around because your fuck may or may not be cheating on you? Guess what - he is, and I'm secretly excited for the day that you realize this.

#2: I hate you. You're not even worth being told off.

#3: I love you. You have pneumonia. Again. Your drugs aren't working. You're weak, can't stop coughing and can't catch your breath. Your x-rays will probably show what we all know - congestive heart failure. I want to give you the journal that I bought a few years ago and never gave to you. I bought it so you could write your story, because it is such a wonderful, wonderful story. But it's blank. Now you're too weak to write a letter. I've almost become numb, but not numb enough.