You. Yes, You. Out.

Pedicabo te. F*** you.

Pathetic. After weeks of finding ways not to think of you, the best that I can come up with is to curse you in Latin. Simply pathetic.

I want to move on. I need to move on. I need rebuild whats left in me after the big ruckus (yes, that's you, a big ruckus) suddenly decides she can't take the heat anymore and leaves me hanging out to dry.

And yet still you're there. Inside my head. Giving everything I experience, even the things I enjoy doing, a slightly bitter aftertaste because I know you're not there.

You're like an itch I can't quite scratch.

Maybe I just miss you. Maybe I just miss you a lot. Yes, even after everthing, nothing has changed.

That's just what eats me up inside. The fact that I'm here, miserable with you in my mind, and you're there, living la dolce vita.

Pedicabo te. F*** you.

Note: Bwiset ka, lakas talaga ng kamandag mo. If this still doesn't work, I'll try cursing you in Greek.