By that logic, the implication is that he is worthy of your girl.

And by that reasoning, it is assumed that if he is worthy, he must be – at least – on the same level as you … or even better.

The real challenge is in seeing how your girl reacts; if she acts non-chalantly .. she still believes you’re awesome. But if she shows any sign of interest … well, time to step up your game, or step out.

Well I suppose, I felt complacement. Satisfaction? No, an ambivalence to life that is afforded to someone who has given up on the notion of entitlement. I was not entitled to the possession of her affections; that’s why she left me. I am not entitled to the possession of her affections; that’s why she stopped feeling anything for me.

Affection from someone is a privilege. And as with all privileges, they can be given and taken without a moment’s notice. I will never understand the driving impetus of their actions, and I never will. Being left is hard, and the leaving seems easy. We take what is handed to us with a spoon full of bitter vinegar, angry at why people could have done this you, never once thinking that your own ego was lucky to have found the privilege of their affections in the first place.

I don’t feel the anger anymore. But sometimes waking up in the morning becomes a battle of self-pity when everything comes rushing in with a malicious need for revenge and destruction. Horrible, horrible, horrible.

So I watch as acceptance comes to me slowly just as the dusk swallows the sun. The moon, crescent and glowing half as bright still proudly taking it’s rightful place in the night sky. The glittering twinkle that laces the buildings of the financial district. The shiny airplane dots that take the place of stars. And the tiny glimmer of hope that starts to flicker once again in me.

On a more serious note, a lot has changed in the last 4 months. My gradually declining need to be around someone constantly, my quest for aesthetic perfection and .. creativity.

Writing has always been  my primary medium for emotional expression, notwithstanding my occasional flirtation with music. I have always found this huge block, a large metaphorical lump of brick that obfuscates my artistic intention that comes with writing. There is difficulty in the sense that there is no tangibility. Prose is a nothing but a mere haze of what I really intend for you to see.

With that said, I’ve decided to take up drawing lessons. I kid you not. Perhaps I may better express myself in coming time.