It's like that shining moment in your life when suddenly somebody kicked your ass into a world of perfection. Except in all of your mindless stupidity you forgot to realize that there isn't such a thing as perfection, and those that believe in it are fools. You're supposed to be a realist, get up and start moving on with life. She's never coming back, never looked back when she drove away, and she doesn't plan on calling anytime soon, give up. It's times like these when you finally question where in the fuck you went wrong. One moment you were in a happy bliss with the so-called woman of your dreams, now, you, you're in a bed, drunk, weeping over yourself.
Get. The. Fuck. Up.
You're tired moping isn't going to get you anywhere except exhausted and depressed. Go out, have a good time. Call up your boy Trace and figure out some new club to hit up. You know the photographers will eat up that shit with you all in the hot scene. Hell, go call up Paris, Cameron, maybe even Brit if you wanna start some phone calls real fast.
I don't get it, buddy, you sit there crying and wondering where in the hell you went wrong when you know damn well it wasn't your fault. She wasn't happy, she didn't want to live your life anymore, and she was tired of the limelight. She loved you, yes, but love only goes so far in situations like this.
That's it; get up Justin. Get your two feet on the ground and go take a shower. No, I don't care if the bathroom still smells like Abercrombie 8 and CHI shampoo; throw that shit out. So what if she left her jewelry there, go sell it; I'm sure that engagement ring is worth enough for you to buy another Ferrari.
Once you're done in the shower, go pick out some clothes. Nice job, get the phone and call up Trace and Scott, it'll be a boy's night out. Don't drive either, you've already had too much today.
Walk down the stairs, don't look at the pictures at the wall, and don't look at them! Damnit, Justin, I told you not to look. Now, why do you have to start the tears again? Didn't we just get over that? One foot in front of the other, that's it.
The phone is ringing dumb ass; you left it on the kitchen counter. Answer it; don't sound stupid either. WAIIIT. Breaks buddy; you know whose number that is. You can't talk to her right now; you can't even say the word "Sam" without bursting into tears.
You'll talk to her later, just not right now. You're far too uneasy to confront the situation the way it is right now. Tomorrow, once you're done recovering from your hangover, you should probably hit the studio. Call up Tim and the boys and see what you come up with. Those girls need another club banger, they need another tour, and they need more you. It's time you start moving on with life buddy, and I'll do whatever it takes to get you to that point.
