Break your fingers, win the lottery.

Maybe you should get some sort of stream of consciousness going.
Get yourself drunk, start putting this all into format.

You could start off where things ended. How you tried to sulk and sink into your chair, head mostly down, trying to make it seem like it really wasn’t so bothersome. But you must’ve looked like you were ready to start sobbing, and not in a heart-wrenching way. More like a kid who didn’t make the cut, a self-absorbed pouting that things didn’t go your way. But you didn’t think that when it was happening, you wrote their lines and thoughts, let’s say, a day or two later when you were mulling things over. You would’ve put more of a happy face on, but it just wasn’t your style. That was the problem. How in the fuck were you supposed to be happy if you wouldn’t take the risk, put it out on the line in the first place, back when it would’ve mattered? You thought that telling her what you really thought two years later would’ve changed surfaces? Shit, you really thought that.

So now it’s all done, she left and you’re still here. Fundamentally unchanged. You’re just as deep in debt as you were a year ago, you’re still not in shape, and you’re back in the shit house without a job. Spinning like a fucking record. She could’ve dropped a line at least, say that she misses you, and then you would say that she isn’t missing much. Perfect, because it’s true and brooding, let’s her think that there’s been something missing out of you this whole time. But she won’t think that. You’re not capable of swinging opinions around, warping perspectives or impressions. They think whatever they like of you, and you don’t know how to pick and form the words to change their mind. If anything it reinforces it.

Jesus christ, you’re only at your third paragraph and already you’re unsatisfied. What kind of premise is this, are you talking to them or are you talking to me? What could you revise that wouldn’t make you sound like a cunt who can’t let go? That’s for lack of a better term (there’s your premise). Admittedly her memory isn’t around all the time, because frankly you got enough shit on your plate to eat already and these fuckers are still piling it on, and so are you. What time are you gonna wake up tomorrow this time? How many hours until dusk?

Check your phone again. Still no reply. Different her, you haven’t seen this one in over two years. This is perplexing, how does someone that looks like that seem so excited about you? I can practically hear the hammer as the nails are being driven into the perimeter fence already. Talks at you like you’re her homo friend, which is about as close as anyone lets you get. Spineless homo fuck. Let’s just for the sake of argument assume that things turn around and you do see her a week from tuesday. What then? What on earth do you possibly have to say? Oh yeah good to see you too. I’m glad you liked your pathological gift, you’re very welcome. Hah, yeah good start. Already thoughts wander, you start piecing together parts of the night and play them like Risk, but mostly it’s self-serving masturbatory ideals, a person that isn’t quite like you who has the next right thing to say already in the chamber, the one that separates you two from the rest of the crowd and is the ticket to catching a fucking break for once. Happiness comes when dreams combine with the waking reality. Problem is the tendency that whatever you think could happen never really does, because your chamber is fucking empty, or more suitably full of blanks. There’s a loud sound and a flash but no one’s ever really struck by you.

Have your cigarette, lord knows you earned it. Just take a moment to collect all of this, really take these words and let them get singed on your eyes. Try to ignore the futility of it all. It’s as likely this will help you as it is it will be read by someone who understands, if read at all. Not like a cry for help sort of thing, you’re just venting and talking to yourself. Except now you’re not trying as hard as you used to, because there’s no symbolism. No great mystery you’re leaving behind to dazzle and befuddle. Whatever it was that did that for you left with the first her. And it’s not coming back, if at all, the same way it arrived.

So
that’s it.
Think of a title and try to sleep. Maybe it’ll be a comforting dream again.