I'm the world to "The One" or at least I imagine I am, which is mostly the same thing. I like individuality, but if he wants me to be like the me he used to know than I can try. I can't be her exactly, and inside it hurts that I can't think like that, but on the outside I can paste on a smile and pretend. I can act like her, I can look like her. I can't think like her. I can't feel like her. But noone on the outside has to know that. No one needs to know the pain it causes. For all purposes I am her. . . Until one day it's too much and then I'll leave, just disappear with the wind.

"The Other" is gone. I let him go. After a conversation with "The One" about jealousy, I got online and bluntly told "The Other" that it's over. "The Other" isn't out of my life forever. We all know that it isn't possible to quit his addictive presence cold turkey. So there's just no more naughty. There's no more unnecessary touching, no more late night snuggling and movie watching, no more waiting around for hours to invite him over after work. NO more. I'll still talk to him online. I'll still see him at work. I'll still invite him over to videogame with "The One" occasionally. He's neither gone, nor forgotten, but it feels like I've ripped my heart apart and threw it away.

Running away with hot lesbians still sounds fun. . . Perhaps someday.