I live the next two weeks in solitude. My days are filled with silent movies of new vibrant flowers blooming outside and staring at rain droplets falling down my window, rooting for the ones that move the fastest. I haven't talked to anyone these days, apart from my roommate and my parents. 

They all have an obligation to speak to me, they can't exactly get around it. At this point, I'm just a burden. I've been a wreck over everything from this last month. The questions won't stop coming. 

Why did I willingly ruin everything with Rowan? Why did Delilah keep lying to me about why she left? Why am I like this? 

I feel like I've lived a thousand lives since I came to college and none of them have been good. I started off strong, and slowly deteriorated into the person I am today. I'm known as a toxic bitch in my dorm, and though Madison has kindly tried to defend me, there's nothing that can twist what people heard with Rowan. I suppose it's Rowan's revenge, I treated them like shit in private and now they got to humiliate me in public. 

Back then, I could have talked to Delilah about this. We haven't spoken in over a month, and it's been harder than it was to not hear from her for those 4 years. This time, it's directly my fault. Normal people wouldn't trash a recent relationship like I did and act like the most monumental moments in their life were actually nothing. I brushed over our past together to try to get the final points to win some made-up battle I was making up in my head. 

I wonder if Delilah is still with her perfect girlfriend. I once took that status for granted. I watched as it slipped away from my hands like sand during our fight. Well, Delilah won. She has her girlfriend, she's not poor after all, and she's living her best life. 

People say social media isn't an accurate measure of a person's true happiness, but fuck, it hurts when I see how happy Delilah looks in her square Instagram posts. Traveling in LA, she's pictured smiling with someone I assume must be her girlfriend. I'm surprised she isn't more careful with what she posts, considering her parents being homophobic and all of that. 

Her girlfriend is gorgeous. . . And almost looks like me. That could be my own ego wishing that she's still searching for me in everyone she meets. Her oval-shaped face and upturned eyes remind me of myself, and her sense of style rings a bell. It's mostly basic, just like my own tastes. Colors of forest green, nude, and blue are present in her vest, shirt, and jeans. Her use of jewelry is kept to the minimum with an understated silver necklace that has the initial C.

She could be trying to recreate our relationship. I'm pathetic, but so is she if it's true, and that brings me comfort. 

Or I could also just be reading too much into it. But I would rather think about the interpretation that brings me some peace. Maybe I didn't fuck up things as much as I thought I did, maybe there's still hope. 

I don't think I can just swoop in with a cliche "thinking of you" text that a desperate ex would send. I'm not in the place to do that, she does appear to be happy with her girlfriend. She might hate me more if I send that.

Nina would offer good advice here, but I don't have her around. We ran into each other the other day on campus, near that frozen lake that people love to swim in during the warmer seasons. The ice is melting away there, but her bitter feelings toward me still haven't gone away. 

She had glanced at me like I was her least favorite purse from last season, and sighed with some ridiculous pity before she wordlessly walked onto the grass to get around me. She's probably heard the rumors about me and can't believe she ever associated with me. 

She might not recognize who I am now, and I'm not sure I do either. My self-destructive habits haven't helped me in any way, but at least my academic life is thriving. It's easier to concentrate on papers and studying for exams when you realize you have no other reason to live at the moment. I just have to get through two and a half more months, and I'll be home. 

My parents can't be disappointed with me for that long, and at least I'll be able to hang out with my favorite cousins in-person. Maybe I'll have a summer fling, that would be nice. 

I could transfer out to get away from this place, but I know my parents wouldn't approve of that. I earned a spot here for free, and my financial aid may suffer at other institutions as a transfer student. Besides, this school is objectively great for my future career. If I have any hopes of becoming a writer, this would be the place to be at. I just wish it wasn't a place where so many hate me. 

Of course, that is kind of my fault. People can, and will, still hate me anywhere in the world. 

I just have 6 and a half semesters left of this, it's not too bad. I can make it, I think. . . I hope. In the meantime, I'll just focus on school. 

I've written a lot in the past two weeks, focusing on details about my encounter with Rowan and how much I miss Delilah even though I'm terrible at showing it. I guess I could focus on journaling as a way to improve though, I can take more inspiration from those silly prompts that white people love following. I could even start doing pilates, or go on a retreat into the wild. 

I wish I had the money to fund a trip like that, I should become closer friends with Madison and suggest it to her. She would probably love something like that. 

These are all the thoughts I have during my meals alone in the dining hall. Nina used to accompany me, now she just sits with her boyfriend all the time. Rowan also sat with me often, but they're off with their eccentric group of friends at the far end of the room. They catch me staring, and glare at me like my simple existence is an insult. Their friends turn to stare at me too, and they all return quiet words with each other that I can't even hear. They start laughing after a few seconds, and I wonder if it's better or worse that I don't know what they said. 

This feels like high school.

I quickly put on my black fuzzy sweater, and take my trays to the designated location in the room. I try to avoid them again, and I make my way out before anyone can attempt to speak to me. I don't want to hear it at all. 

When I make my way to my room, I realize that I'm not above lame "thinking of you" texts. I type one out, and I send it before I can let my extreme hesitation kick in. 

Except, it's not for Delilah. It's for Nina because I miss my best friend so damn much.