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Whenever it comes to someone whom you have seriously liked before, it's always something like a competition even after any trace of feelings is reduced to an amiable mixture of indifference and platonic cordiality.

You just want to be happier than him.

Deep down, you want him to regret for not choosing you, and you want to show him that without him, life is so much better and so much happier. And if he seems much happier than you, you feel crappy. So much for indifference and platonic cordiality. You might as well take a knife and stab him on the back for all its worth.

Then you tried to stop yourself from being such a vindictive bitch by stopping all forms of contact with him, and you slowly start to forget. You begin to achieve a sense of balance.

Then something happens to conjure up that memory, a simple remark, an innocent mention. And you realise how much you hate him. Because he is so much happier than you are. You start to feel a little demented, because all you can think of is how much you want him to be unhappy and sad. To see him devestated and as unhappy as you are.

But are you really unhappy? Or just deliberately stirring up what you have been trying so hard to suppress? Maybe you don't really want happiness. Maybe you like being unhappy so that people will actually sympathize with you?

Maybe...