You can see the depressivtrospection in the extended poetry that begins the entry. I was thinking, 'this writing not be very good, but it helps me get things off my chest and it quickly fills pages.'
I was on the train to London, on my own, to see Max and Ed perform at the Southbank Centre. I tried to convince her to come. I took a penitent pleading tack. She eventually agreed to come and was cold cold cold towards me when she did ('I'm here now, this is what you wanted, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be nice to you, no, on the contrary, I'm going to make this hell for you.').
She hung out with my friends. I went off on my own. Eventually we left in the evening to go and stay the night with some of my other friends. For a while we put on the act an amicable normal relationship with a hint of laughing hatred which coalesced into outright bile when we were left alone to sleep. OUTRIGHT BILE.
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