Rage!

How fucking could they?!?!

I’m so mad I’m vibrating. If I tried to speak, it would be garbled and there would be spittle. It would be comical. He often laughed at me when I lost my temper. I’m too awkward to pull off the intensity of rage I often feel.

Actually it’s not like I’m surprised at all.  Why wouldn’t the two people I have loved most decide they love each other…and hate me.  Murphy’s law right?  

I should smash something. Get their attention, make a scene…that’ll show ’em! Yea…show everyone I’m a super douche. Rejected…thrown away…garbage that isn’t sane enough to stay put in the trash.

I would bet they talk about all the annoying things I can never get it together with:  closing drawers, matching light bulbs,putting together words cohesively. They are laughing about my over-analyzation of everything, my hyper-sensitivity; all the things I did (stupidly) to prove my love.  Perhaps they spend hours recounting my deepest darkest secrets to each other. Or worse, they aren’t even thinking about me at all as they passionately devour each other’s souls and bodies.  They aren’t even seeing anything but each other. They didn’t know I’d be here.  
If they saw me, they’d see through me.

What really kills is the realization that it isn’t about me.  Maybe it never was. While I pine and ache over the loss, it’s not in their realm of quenched lust. Here I thought that my awkward charm and endless devotion to both of them placated their superior egos.  I thought my daily fails with gusto made them in love with me. I felt elated to have a best friend and a lover by my side that jived and elated me into thinking stupid things like “#squadgoals” and “BFF” and then cringe at my overall “basic-ness”  I was “living my best life”…Ha! That my flaws were a foil to their separate but crisply individual perfection. But, who the fuck am I kidding?  

He was everything I wanted. She is everything I’m not.  Together they can have what I can never give…