it's your birthday this weekend. i know you're expecting a text from me. stop. think. you can't just sit there thinking i'll let you walk all over me one more time. i don't miss you anymore. i don't wish you lived around the corner anymore and i won't put up with you trying to find an excuse to hate me, like you do every time you leave. it's fucking pathetic. over it. moving on. ta-ta. for now.