God, he wrote that a long time ago. I have a lot of other emails from him, all of which i should probably delete. But you see, that's the problem. That's the reason that he's having fun and i'm sitting crying in front of my computer screen. Because he's deleted his emails, and i have a folder full.

What am i reading his fucking emails for? what part of me is unable to recognise that he wrote this stuff months ago, when things were very very different, and none of it means a thing anymore.

Just letting you know that i love to love you unconditionally too, so you need never feel lonely.

He wrote that. No really, he did. This boy, the one i'm all mopey and miserable and pining over, he wrote that to me.

Oh, delete the godamn emails kate. Delete them and delete him and forget about the whole stupid thing.

If only it was that simple.

So read the new stuff kate. Read the recent emails. You've been avoiding those, haven't you, on your little nostalgia trip. Read this :

I still think about you loads. But these past few weeks and months i've hardly seen you. Iv'e not moved on, just got used to the fact that i wasnt going to be with you. It felt as if you were giving me all these signs: going out with Danny, and then Ste. And whenever i saw you it seemed as if you were playing everything up. It just hurt, like you were rubbing in my face. Showing me how much fun you were having.

Stop fucking about reading old surveys, and listen to what he's telling you now.

But because it hurt, it made me more determind to do something with guitar and to be happy with my friends.

Can you hear that? All this moaning about him being so close to 'your friends' and him being so obsessed with his godamn guitar - you caused that. It's your fault and it's your problem and will you please stop fucking crying.

Christ. And to top it all, i'm talking to myself again.

Right now, i need a phone call from my best friend. I need her to take me out and drink chocolate orange vodka shots with me, and tell me what an idiot he is and how i'm better off without his sorry bitter little self anyway. I need to curl up on a sofa with a duvue, tub of ice cream, soppy film and her. I need her to hug me and let me cry, so i'm not doing it on my own in the dark by my computer screen. But it's 2.30 in the morning. And she's in liverpool, or something. And she's saving her money, to go away with me so i can be depressed in another country with more snow. no chocolate orange vodka and soppy film for me.

< - >

* the marks of memories forgotten
* wasting emotions, over again
* intentions, and such
* nothing unusual, nothing's changed - just a little older, that's all (damien rice : amie)
* now I understand! It doesn't make sense because it isn't supposed to