So you went with her. She loves you, you know. I used to think, I should feel sorry for her. She holds on to you like you're some sort of life line. She thinks she is this independent bad ass bitch. She thinks she doesn't need you. But I am like her and I have looked into her eyes. Deep inside, in the secret places of her heart, she loves you. And its like a secret club we have, the women who love you, we recognize each other. But where I have only sympathy, I see in her that primal urge to tear my eyes out.
I must be fair though. She does her best to control herself. She tries not to call. She tries so hard. So hard. But in the end, she gives in. She skulks in places where you will be, she calls to invite you to places I cannot go. She knows this. She knows me. And still I cannot muster enough anger for her. She is after all, the one you do NOT love.