I hate Sundays

I hate them. Everything is exacerbated on Sundays. Too much time to think, and even more time to feel. Today I feel. I was doing so good numbing out, but it caught up with me today. If I had any tears left I'm sure I'd cry. But I'm all dried up. So no tears, just a dull ache in the pit of my stomach and heaviness in my chest. What to do, what to do. You were more invasive this week than you've been in two months. I stopped sleeping again. Not that I ever really slept, but there were three days of complete peace and slumber. That seems to have vanished, along with my strength to do what needs to be done. It's because you've been nice and more attentive this last week than you've been in months. Just when I was getting use to the asshole who took you away, you come back. I prayed for this several weeks ago. Of course you haven't come back, not really. I live in fear and denial. I had taken two steps into the realm of moving on and then you called my name. What did I do? I turned around and looked back. Should have focused on the road ahead and kept moving. Now I know less than I knew a week ago. So confused. I honestly wonder what you want. What do you want from me? You made yourself so clear, you buried your half and moved on. Or at least that's what you told me. So why the return? What freaked you out to the point of coming back? And are you genuine or is this just a weak phase. I'm betting on weak phase. I thought you'd have cracked by now. I though wrong. But this week, this week you'll cave, and leave as randomly as you came back.

I should hate you for this.
I should hate me for this.

Curiosity killed the cat
This cat is tired of being killed but can't help wondering.
Gets me in trouble every time.