Stupid shit I wrote to a girl who doesn’t exist anymore.

No. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to decide I was flavour of the fucking month once again. You were meant to stay away. Stay away from me, and I was never supposed to think about you ever again, ever again. Bono’s singing don’t turn around, don’t turn around, don’t turn around…your gypsy heart, and don’t you know, he’s singing to me? Don’t turn around, don’t turn around, and don’t look back — but I do. I was never supposed to, but I DID!

Come on now, love — don’t you look back!

I looked back, I looked back, and again, you’ve torn me into shreds.

You…you goddamn bitch, you heartless…you have no idea, and you don’t care, do you. And here’s me, stupid, gullible little Kirryn-Arwen, foolish, naive, hopeful little me — hope isn’t the thing with feathers, don’t you know, hope is the nasty little bastard that chokes you with your own dreams. Hoping…what I’m hoping would have several people kill me. And you know what? I can’t fucking STOP IT. The little voice in the back of my head, my id, whatever, she’s screaming at me. She knows. Yes, she knows.

Hope has no place in this. None whatsoever. You’re not interested in me as a person. If you were to move here, you wouldn’t give two flying fucks about me. You never did. YOU NEVER DID. You lied to me, and you’ll keep lying to me. You don’t care, you don’t read anything I write, if I was hit by a bus tomorrow you wouldn’t even notice I wasn’t here. You just want another Australian on your flist, now that your obsession has flared up again.

I’m not Australian, I’m Scottish. And I’m not going to live here for much longer, I’m going to Ireland. I’m going to Ireland and I’m going to disappear, forget my own name, to become someone else completely.

You have no idea. You have…you’re ruining me. You ruined me three years ago, you ruined me last November (oh yes, I found out what you did, you and that bitch), you’re destroying me now. And you shouldn’t even…haven’t you read anything? Haven’t you looked around? This shows how much you care: 0%.

And me? Stupid, stupid, stupid little Subaru of this equation?

“I really loved you…Se…i…shi…rou…sa…n…”

Remember what I told you last year? Dreams can’t be. I know this. “Arwen didn’t think that.” You said that to me, didn’t you? You probably don’t remember or care. Yes, you did. But I’m not Arwen anymore. I’m not an Evenstar. You took away every shred of light that was in me and you don’t care. You’re not even going to read this. I don’t even know why I’m typing it all out. Because the tears won’t stop and Bono’s voice is tearing what’s left of my heart out and because I can’t stand it. So I can give my nasty little stalker bitches who hate my guts something to giggle at.

I don’t care. I don’t care.

I can’t stop it. Can’t stop my tears, can’t stop my heart. Can’t stop this goddamn hope, despite knowing how futile and poisonous it is. Can’t stop knowing that even if for one moment, a miracle occured, things looked up, they’d come down. Oh, they would. Crashing spectacularly. I know this. I don’t know it. I can’t stop.

Don’t turn around, your gypsy heart–

You should see what you’ve done, the scars you’ve carved on me. Don’tlovedon’tpushdon’tspeakoutofturndon’trelydon’tfeel. CANNOT LOVE. Cannot fall. Will not fall. Can’t break a heart that’s already broken. Can’t take a heart that was given away long ago.

–your gypsy heart–

My gypsy heart.

And you don’t care. You don’t care one iota; you’ll never even read this. While I sit here, bawling like an idiot, aching, this goddamn song on repeat. Don’t turn around? Too late. This post is going to get me in so much trouble, and I just…I don’t care. I don’t care anymore. This will pass, and so will time, and I’ll move to Ireland and forget. Or convince myself that I’ve forgotten.

I’m pathetic, because despite everything you’ve ever done, every lie you told me, I can’t…I can’t stop…mi ankoraux ami vi.

Seishirou-san…I lost the bet, didn’t I.

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