The throbbing pain in my chest is morphing from it's obnoxious and ever-constant self to become a dull ache that reminds me only of what was and what will now never be. I'll get used to it.
I'm beginning to realise why they tell you to stretch before a match of soccer. And curses to the fact that I didn't.
I wish he'd talk to me tonight, say come over, watch a movie, spend time with me.
But he wont.
He's too much like me.
Love to cyberspace. Though I'm not so sure that the love is real.
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