Ketchup is Not Yummy

I hate ketchup. I hate it. That's a thought that crosses my mind a lot, since I used to LOVE ketchup. I'd put it on everything, I'd eat it with a spoon. 

It's weird, the way things change like that.

It all happened one day I just had enough it made me so sick and I can't even handle the smell anymore. I move to a different bench when my friends at lunch open the packets. It gives me horrible headaches and makes me feel nauseated just at the thought of it. 

Strange how that one time it made me feel sick ruined ketchup for me forever.

What's even weirder is that that's what happened with a certain somebody (boy the last blog post was about). Let's give him a name. Oswald! I love that name, I love his real name too, so it fits. 

Anyway, these two thoughts converge because I really liked ketchup, even if it had given me a stomach ache I would eat more ketchup, I just adored it. But the ONE TIME it gave me the worst stomach ache that ketchup had ever given me, I just never have looked at it the same. Don't get me wrong, it had given me stomach aches before from eating it, but this one stomach ache was so bad I gag at the smell or look of ketchup and can't even think too hard about it now. 

I really liked him, too. He'd hurt my feelings over and over again but I got over it. Instant recoil of emotions, my god, I got over everything he did so quickly because I wanted it to work so badly, but then he got his girlfriend after feeding me (presumed) lies for two months, and I just don't see him the same. I don't know if I ever will. It's something we can't come back from, you know? What was funny was I spent so much time crying over stuff he did and things he said and I always got over it because of how badly I wanted HIM, but the moment I found out he got a girlfriend after telling me the complete opposite, it all stopped. I stopped caring about him, I stopped thinking about him in that rose tinted lense, I became sick at the thought of him. At the thought of how much I liked him and how little he had cared about me. 

Maybe he did truly truly like me at some point, I mentioned that in my last blog post. It's possible that he didn't lie about that, but after what he did, the only thing I want from him is an apology. And I'll never get one. 

I liked him in the way that I memorized everything he'd told me, every little detail, no matter how small. I listened to everything he'd told me and I tried my hardest to be there for him, but he just didn't want me there. He didn't like me in the way I liked him, it's possible he never liked me at all. But maybe, just maybe, he did. He doesn't care about what I like or what I dream of, my favorite color, or my self-appointed arch nemeses. But I cared about everything, I cared about him. But, you win some you lose some. I just wish he was something I won, rather than lost.

He hates ketchup, too. A lot. I know that. I remember that. I doubt he remembers that I hate it, though.