Eat tacos (and don’t text your ex)

And don’t text

So I’ve been on this roller coaster of emotions with my ex boyfriend. We hate each other. We love each other. We’re indifferent. We’re nice to each other. We text. We don’t. 

See? Roller coaster. 

I think what makes it more difficult is that we didn’t break up for any specific reason other than we needed time… Time away from each other. Time to figure out what we wanted… Time to experience life without breathing down each other necks. So we didn’t break up because we didn’t care… That’s the trouble. Neither of us have stopped caring. 

Sure, I mutter in passing while drinking tequila “I DONT CARE!” But it’s false. I’m sure he’s held onto a similar experience. But the cold hard truth is we haven’t stopped caring. And that my friends, is dangerous grounds. What happens when you still care but know this space of good for you?

Well in my case, you text him telling him not to come in your neighborhood… That he’s not allowed. (It’s true, that happened). I have to laugh at myself because it’s pretty fucking hilarious I got so mad at a picture of him eating tacos at MY FAVORITE TACO SHOP IN THE LOWER EAST SIDE that I scolded him for being there.

I also have address my dangerous infatuation with tacos, but that’s neither here nor there.

So that’s where I am. Caring and wanting tacos. I suppose it could be worse. Life without tacos. (Gasp!) 


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