ashtray

What the helly

HI!

hello lolaa

LOLA IN THE CHAT

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It's iva mark n us!!!

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Thanks for involving me in this guys

Real scenario that happened

I think I've finally figured out what my problem is. I get love and hate confused so easily that sometimes I wonder if there was ever a difference to begin with. They're both so embarrassingly loud. Both make you notice everything. Every expression. Every silence. Every stupid little habit you swore you hated and somehow memorized anyway. Love makes you study someone until you know them too well. Hate does exactly the same thing. You learn their voice. Their footsteps. The little pause before they lie. You learn everything. And then you pretend you don't care. I can say I'm finished with you with such conviction you'd almost believe me. I believe me. For about five minutes. Then you're gone and suddenly the room is offensively empty. How dare you leave me alone with my own thoughts. How dare you make me miss you. How dare you exist somewhere that isn't here. I want to slam the door. I want to hold it open. I want to tell you never to come back and then spend the entire night wondering why you haven't. It's humiliating. Absolutely humiliating. You ask me what's wrong and I smile because telling the truth would ruin the performance. I'm wonderful. I'm perfectly wonderful. Sit down. Eat something. Don't look at me like that. Actually, keep looking at me. No, stop. No, don't stop. See? This is what you do to me. You turn every simple emotion into a courtroom argument and somehow I'm always both the prosecution and the defense. I accuse you of ruining me while secretly being terrified that you'll stop trying. I tell you I hate you while listening for your footsteps. I tell you I'm leaving while wondering whether you'll follow. I say it's over because I need to hear myself say it. And then I wait. Because maybe you'll disagree. Maybe you'll laugh. Maybe you'll apologize. Maybe you'll say something stupid and sweet and completely destroy the beautiful little speech I prepared about how I don't need you anymore. Wouldn't that be awful? I'd hate that. I'd love that. Same thing, apparently. That's the part nobody tells you about love. Sometimes it doesn't feel warm. Sometimes it feels like standing across a dinner table from somebody you adore and thinking, very calmly, very politely, I could absolutely spend the rest of my life being furious with you. And then you smile. And suddenly I'm rearranging the entire universe to make room for you again. I think that's why I keep setting another place at the table. Not because I'm forgiving. Not because I'm healed. Not because I suddenly became reasonable. God forbid. I just can't decide whether I want you close enough to love or far enough away to hate properly. So I keep doing both. I keep calling you darling when I'm angry. I keep calling you awful when I miss you. I keep turning affection into an accusation and resentment into a love letter. Maybe that's all we've ever been. Two people standing in the wreckage, arguing over who loved who harder. And me? I'm still smiling. Still making jokes. Still insisting everything is perfectly normal. Because if I admit how much I care, I lose. And if I admit how angry I am, I lose. So I'll do what I always do. I'll say I'm done. I'll mean it. I'll hate you for making me mean it. I'll miss you five minutes later. And tomorrow I'll set the table for two again. Because apparently I have never learned the difference between wanting someone beside me and wanting them to understand exactly how badly they've gotten under my skin. Maybe that's love. Maybe that's hate. Maybe I've just been calling the same disaster two different names.

Guys in going back to the caves to do a traditional ritual I'm so flipping happy