on regret

i really should have told him not to do it. i really should have. i never meant any harm, in fact i'm a harm wuss. anyways, he just went there, and that's exactly what i told him to do, and he told her what she had told me. and then it was all on me. she felt betrayed, i saw her face shattering and her breath tightening and her heart skipping a beat, and he was laughing. i was, too, laughing like a bloody hyena. on the outside, at least. on the inside i was secretly leaking. to make things worse, after a while i went there too, and tried to make up for it somehow, and that made it all even worse. i had told him to go there and tell her all the things she had told me intimately, or as close to intimate as it was, and he did it. he said it all right, and i had told him to, even if i knew it was in fact the only thing i whished he didn't talk about. and then, after he had said it, then i went there and tried to fix things somehow. i can see myself going there, pretending it was all cool, pretending it was all a big joke. i knew it wasn't. every word that came out of my mouth, every single one of them, was just fake, like a pit dragging me down and into itself. i was a phony obnoxious bastard then, and i feel stupid now, even if i know everything is now forgotten and buried and long long gone, for me and for her and for him. you can't change what happened. you can never change anything. past things are only that, past, gone and as inevitable as rain and thunder.