C-Hottie = Not My Type After All

I officially announce this: I hate C-Hottie. And no, I’m not drunk. At least, not yet.

I realize I haven’t seen him clearly for the past few months. Forget about what I said in “C-Hottie In Town”, when I reread the post, I couldn’t believe how stupid and idiotic I am. At the past, I’m a fish in a little pond of C’s, hypnotized by him every time he fed me, observing every move he made. But when I somehow escaped from the pond, I can see everything, and I’m disgusted by how I thought about him.

Yup, correct, that brings back to “I just want to die, happily.”

What happen? Oh, I was walking down the street this evening and again, as usual he’s outside. But this time, he’s with someone. No, not a girl, a boy. Ya, good point, maybe he’s gay.

He didn’t saw me, which I find that lucky right now. He’s with a friend, playing basketball. And then suddenly I heard something bad, badly bad:


“***********”

I don’t even want to remember it. It was really bad. It’s not the F word or any word. You can really cry if he says that out loud in your face.

I couldn’t concentrate on where I’m going. In the end, I gathered my logic skills and went straight back home, abandoning the thought of buying an ice cream, or two (inside joke).

I stared at him when I passed his house again, just to make sure that he’s real. He’s ugly.
I sat back home, in my room, reading though my diary where I described C as my prince. And I raised goose bumps it was like watching "The Unborn" all over and over again.

Love is irrational,
I keep reminding myself,
The more you love somebody,
The less sense anything makes you.

XOXO
JorDan T.