In an honest world, I would come off as fickle and capricious. My justifications for my actions are little more than word vomit that holds no meaning. It's kind of suicide, clinging so desperately to the past I want nothing more than to forget. Sylvia Plath said "I wait and ache. I think I must have been healing." And I find true that I was healing, that I am healing, because your well dressed betrayal no longer holds me down, but keeps me afloat.