what's going on buddy?

-𝖗𝖊𝖕, 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖚𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖑𝖘 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖐. 𝕹𝖔 𝖘𝖐𝖎𝖑𝖑

PUT A GIRL ON

Alright, I think that's clear enough for me. You've got plenty of time to ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ but not the common courtesy to take a few minutes of your time to sort your ♥♥♥♥ out.

I have been bending over backwards making excuses for why you're not this cold, negligent person that this whole ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ has led me to believe you are. I've had to endure the painful process of having to explain to our friends that I had basically been abandoned with you while you're off just ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ up with everybody else, having a grand old time, much like you're doing in this thread right now. That's a pretty ugly look, don't you think? I've been giving you time in spades to come up with literally anything to say to me. A simple "I'm not interested" would have sufficed, but instead you graciously accepted every out that I gave you just to keep buying time for the attention you're lavishing in.

You enjoyed my company because it was a good source of attention when we were just a small group of people. I thought you were a decent person and a friend at that. As soon as other people were in the picture to meet that need, you dropped me like I was going out of fashion. Call me some ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ who caught feelings for some e-girl on the internet, okay. I'll take it. I'm an idiot but at least I have the common courtesy to treat other people with the respect and dignity they deserve as human beings. I'll be damned though if I'm just going to eat the entirety of the emotional burden of this falling out for you though. You get to ♥♥♥♥ me over and then enjoy the support of all of our friends while I just have to silently endure this?

I've never felt so used in my life. You're ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ cruel, you know that?

In our relentless pursuit of the perfect interface between mind and machine, we build monuments to our own discontent. Each click, each tactile response, each millimeter of travel becomes a meditation on what we seek but cannot name. We spend fortunes to recreate the feeling of something we've never felt, chase echoes of satisfaction that fade with each new acquisition, and find ourselves surrounded by shrines to our own restlessness. In this symphony of springs and switches, we are all apprentices to an art that has no master.