We all want to be more than just a number, but when you're keeping count, it's hard to think otherwise. And who knew the number thirty-eight would still be haunting me after all.
And maybe that's just it, I have been focusing too hard on solving and fixing and finding out. I never gave enough time for the development.
I don't have regrets because I hold our truth and our lies together. They are ornaments for a Christmas tree except not because I fucking hate Christmas and I don't necessarily hate this situation.
Weather the textee was too drunk to comprehend, I still let out every last thing I've been hiding. I've never done that before. I mean, I didn't even tell the guy that beat me up the truth even though I knew it'd hurt him.
See, I've always wanted to be that good, honest woman I pretend to be. I mean, I even go all out and lie to myself to make me believe that I am perfect and I am always the one getting hurt.
And each new man that enters my life i think, "He's going to be the one that I am faithful to. He's going to be the man that I marry" hah.
On a slightly different note, it's weird to think that if my boss never failed me and if the lawyer loved me back, I wouldn't be enlisting in the army.
I am glad how things have turned out. I've always been at least satisfied with results and really, that's what keeps me alive.
Aftermath.
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