It seems that I'm always waiting for the floor to give way beneath me.  Most of the time it does.  When I'm wrong it doesn't matter much anyway, because I've already screwed up what I've been doing by waiting impatiently for something to go awry.  Lately I've had no such luck.  This time at least, I would like to have been proven wrong.  But I wasn't.  I was right.  This is one of the very few times I derive little to no pleasure from an "I told you so".  Why did you do it?  Perhaps it's the universe's little joke on me.  Payback for all the mistakes I've made, bad things I've done, and lies I've told.  Maybe it's karma calling to say, "don't worry, you'll get yours."  Either way, it doesn't matter.  I don't care if I deserve it or not.  I don't give a shit if I have any right to feel this way.  I don't even care if she was the Queen of fucking England and by sleeping with her you could bring peace to the Middle East.  I'm just tired, and my chest hurts.  That deep ache that makes you simultaneously feel like your suffocating and about to throw up.  It's only been a day but I already feel the door closing.  The walls are going back up, and hopefully they'll be back to stay.  Sometimes I feel that the only way to keep you around is to shut you out.  Who knows anyway?  I've always been bad at keeping my promises, and you were always very good at finding a way inside.  I just get so sick of all this waiting.  I've been waiting so long for you it seems.  Waiting for you to come back, waiting for you leave again, waiting for something to give so you can be with me, so I can be with you, but nothing ever comes.