I was painting the walls in my room with primer. The more I paint, the more angry I became.
But it is not the primer.
Do you really give a flying fuck about how I was? Oh wait, I remember that’s only a conversation starter, you are actually more interested to talk about yourself, your life, the things you have, the things you’re after. Just because I’m more of a listener than a speaker doesn’t mean I want to hear you babble.
It’s not that I’m not a good friend. In fact, I daresay I had actually done quite a few things for you that I would only do for worthy friends. However, giving without even the slightest appreciation really bruises my pride.
You are really full of rubbish sometimes.
Remember that time, you informed me about your stupid Anya Hindmarch bag on the night I return from the insane HK-GZ trip? Yea, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You didn’t even asked how I was then.
So you really give a flying fuck about how I am?
