The road to Forthshire

It wanted to write a parabolic-like little story in order to express what I'm feeling. Yeah, that's what great writers did. Even the great drunk writers did that from time to time. Well I'm not drunk now and not a great writer either so why bother? The fact is I don't feel quite well. Hey... fell free to ask, yes! Ah, you don't have to? You suppose huh? Wait! You don't just suppose - you're quite sure it's about her. Hell yeah! We have a winning ticket. Okay, enough sarcastic lecture. I don't feel well. I couldn't eat my (daily) croissant. That almost never happens. I have that troubling/torturing sensation of emptiness in my stomach again. It's aching like a whirlwind trapped in a bottle. Seen that? Me neither! But, hell... it ain't no sunshine. Oh I so wish I felt better. I kind of wish that I had a bad hangover instead of this blistering feeling. To tell you the truth is also a little percent of my fault. Okay, close to 50. But she gets upset so fast from (what I perceive) so small facts. The main idea is that I hate when she gets upset. It gives me this pain. It's automated. I can't help it. And it all gets worse in the morning after the sleepless night in-between. I'm also mad. She just kicked me off the phone line and I didn't call her or text message her since then. And I won't. These are not manners and that's not the way to treat a person! (especially if that person is... hmm... your lover, your boyfriend, whatever) No sir! I didn't like it! Not to mention it's getting me even more suspicious one some other aspects (aspects I'm not going to write right now - I'm not so confident you know...). So here I am again nurturing all kind of negative pressures and down-forces on my very stomach. I don't want it. I can't stand it much longer. The sensation. I miss her so much! I miss the un-upset "her" so much...