Of Augury and Hurt Pride

So he’s gone and got married. The one who drove me to alcohol. It seems strange to see him with his pretty white wife. The facebook picture that just screams at me. Pretty. That’s the word. Pretty, which I never was. At least not for him.

Seeing him sitting with her just makes me realize how wrong I was for him. How stupid to have believed that he could have ever went beyond first impressions. How senseless to have believed that anything good could have come out of the liaison…

Seeing him with her just makes me realize how ugly I am…

What seems stranger is that though he moved on years ago and has now got himself a pretty petite brunette, he still uses my words to pass himself off as a dreamer. No he isn’t all that he claims through my words. My words were not meant for him to cloak himself from the world. He is still the same son of the preacher man. The same freak he used to be. But something has changed. Not with him, but with me.

Once, I hated him for hurting me. Today, I hate him for being happy.