She paced the floor, “Maybe you’ll be better for someone else,” she said,” for someone who doesn’t care.”   She stopped and turned towards him, holding her arms out by her sides, “But I’ll always care – about everything.”  She started pacing again and he just watched from the bed where he sat, where they had just made love, where he had, not even ten minutes ago, thought everything was as good as it could be.  But he was wrong – he was always wrong.

“And you’ll be the ‘me’ of that relationship, and you’ll understand where I’m coming from.  But by then it’ll be too late.  It’ll be too late because I’ll be on to next guy, hoping he’ll be just like you.  I hope he is just like you… but I hope he cares.  And I hope that he shows me that he cares, because you can tell me that you do one hundred times and I’ll never believe you because you’ve never, not once, taken the initiative to prove it.  So how can I believe you?  Anyone can tell me they care.  Actions will always speak louder than words, and yours don’t match up.  And I think I’m finally done.”  She started towards the door, reached for the knob but hesitated to turn it.

“I think I’m finally done,” she breathed.  He looked down, searching for the words he hoped would be somewhere in his lap, on the floor, anywhere.  But when he managed to part his lips to speak, she was gone.

I’m trying to deal with it, but you annoy me a lot.

as soon as your fucking girlfriend is out of the picture, you have to come back around and fuck with my sister again. I hope you fucking die, and I mean that with all of my heart.

Everyone, send this bimbo hate.