“That moment when you start to think deeper and deeper and weigh things in. In that same moment, you tell yourself how pathetic your situation is and how stupid your are for not seeing it coming. And still, you turn to that person and lie to yourself like there really was a spark. like there were no proofs that this was just one of those generic love stories of hopelessness. The evidences of your loss were quite clear: He called you awesome and never remembers it, he never even mentioned your name once, he had you number but got it unsaved and unknown, you called him and he said he was doing something ― God, that was your first sign of rejection! Haven’t you heard of Lily Allen’s song? You’re an idiot, sweetie. It was written for people like you. The lines go like this: Fuck you, fuck you. Fuck you very hard. So what were you holding on to? A smiley at the end of his Thank you? Grow up, kid! It’s just a colon and a parenthesis. It’s a meaningless character.”

They’re rich. To them, we’re just a tiny piece of medium-rare steak stuck between the teeth of consumerism.