Ssup? Let's cut to the chase. Stop bullshitting me. YOU ARE FINE. Say it, SAY IT. I don't know about you, but I have had enough. At least make up your mind. Be Okay or be NOT. One moment I'm on cloud 9, the very next, I'm in deep frigging dark waters, encapsulated, drowning, and not even trying to swim my way to the surface. It's not even funny. You find it entertaining? Can't even shoot the fuck out of you, because, well, you are me. I can run from the world, but can I run from you? So, I'm just writing in to put it on record that it's not cool. Oh, so not cool. If you weren't me, I'd have killed you. Can't believe I'm saying this, but even the uterus is better than you. Yes, I said it. Oh, despite the fact it's so dramatic on losing one egg which'll be produced again in a few days for the rest of my life (Well, till menopause). There are tears, there's pain, there's blood, it's a fucking crime scene. Hell breaks loose. YET, you are worse. Stop messing with me. Let me be a simple girl who gets her soul sucked to earn money to be able to eat at an overpriced fancy restaurant only to have a bite or two and leave the rest and feel guilty later seeing the homeless and the unfortunate on the road. Is it too much to ask for? You be the judge. And I'm not a fan of drama. No, sir. You want attention? You can seek shelter elsewhere. Now be a good boy and let me enjoy my aimless, meaningless existence and in return, I promise to feed you with good reads and steer clear of Ekta Kapoor crap and the likes of it. Deal?
