Or the account of my decline into barbarism (and all of the lovely, mad people who helped me do it).

Sunday, October 10, 2010


I've never been one for regrets. I follow my heart, so at one point, this is what I wanted. However, I've recently wondered if I haven't been a little rash in my decisions. A part of me regrets breaking up with Pierre, despite how immature he was about the whole situation. Was I really in the wrong here? Maybe, I don't know. A big part of me feels like I really fucked up. I can't look at those pictures from Montreal without feeling sick to my stomach, like I lost something very special. What was once the most incredible week of my life now brings me pain. I had this fairy tale romance, and I let it go. Maybe it was for the best. I mean, one could hardly call it a relationship. We only talked every week or so...but still. A part of me wonders if I'm a huge fuck-up.

On top of that, I think a small part of me really loved Pierre. Well, what is love anyway.

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