“Happy Birthday! I know that It is 6 months late and everything. I just want to say this because I held myself back, because it was so cheesy, because I had an ego twice bigger than the weird white robot baloon on your instagram post. I am not drunk texting you, this is me sober. Can we meet this weekend? I miss you. I don’t know how to make this not weird. Can I make a facetime call?”
I thought that forgetting your number is as easy as deleting a contact, I couldn’t have been more wrong. And, even after everything, you are still an insensitive dunderhead.
“As you said two years ago : ‘none of this matters to me. we might still talk in the coming weeks, but by the new year you are dead to me.’ Let’s not make this harder for me than it should. You can go to IKEA for comfy couch to fall on, that guy who once dearly loved you died in a NYE party of 2014. That white-robot-baloon has a name, it’s BAYMAX, google it. Have a good day. This is weird, please just stop.”
Why would I even respond? Why can’t I ever let your selfishness pass through? I need to stop paying attention to you.
mikir SEDERHANA 
This is sad…
Why so?