Prompt: Write a letter to an ex. Ooo, the fun I'm going to have with this one...
To the one I kicked out:
Where do I even start. Hey, do you remember that day I was stupid enough to say hello to you? I do. Doing so brought months and months of heartache and self-inflicted guilt that I'm only just starting to forgive myself for.
I was strangely fine with you as a friend, though secretly I harbored a crush on you. I still don't know what it was, your eyes, your smile or the different culture you hailed from. Though all we could do was interact on the Internet, I convinced myself at the time that I loved you fiercely, though....
...you always held me at an arm's distance.
Nothing I ever did ever seemed to bring you lasting happiness. I made a complete fool of myself. And yet you still piled all the blame for stupid little things on me, to such a point that I felt nothing about me would ever make you love me the way I did you. I never wore the right clothes, I didn't hang out with the right people, fuck I never took part in activities that satisfied you at all. Remember when I tore my ACL playing football? Yea, there was no way I could have prevented that. Remember what you told me while I was convalescing? No? I do; you told me to never play again. You know that poster I drew of us, because you told me to do it? I tore it up and threw it out. And it felt wonderful. You know what the sucky part is? If by some freak chance you did find this and read it, you would still find a way to twist it all and make me look like the bad guy. You'd probably degrade yourself and threaten to kill yourself, just to try and get me to cry again. I am embarrassed to admit that you were the first to really make me cry. I am humiliated to confess that I really believed you.
It would be so easy for me to hate you, for all the names you called me, for all the times you lied to me about being with another girl just to get a rise out of me, for all out taking advantage of my puppy love. And in a way, I think I do, and there are very few who have the honour of being hated by me. I refuse to make excuses for you, regardless if the way you treated me was a reflection of how you were taught to treat others. Though I would not be happy if you were physically hurt, this is really just a way for me to vent and rub it in your face that at the end of the day the universe repaid me a hundredfold for what I went through.
I found someone else. We've been going steady for almost two years now. And I know how it feels to really care and be cared about by another person. He's everything that you only wish you could be. When he screws up, he apologizes and he means it. When I have an utterly crappy day and look like shit, he doesn't try to turn the attention toward himself and insist I go make myself pretty. He just holds me and lets me bitch, and when I'm done he still has the guts to tell me I'm beautiful. He understands my boundaries, and he's smart enough to realize I'll kick his ass if he puts a toe out of line, if my father and godfather don't beat me to it first. Know what the best part is? He says he loves me, and when I ask why, sometimes he has reasons, and sometimes he just says it because he wants to.
Maybe under different circumstances it could have worked. Strike that, no it couldn't. I think it would have been even worse if I lived anywhere NEAR you. So yea, I hate you for what you did to me, but at the same time I have to thank you for allowing me to go and find a real relationship. It was rough, I almost gave up completely, but the end was well worth waiting for.
I know it's only been several months since I completely severed all contact with you, but in that time I doubt you've learned how to respect a woman.
But he knows.
I don't think you've truly realized what you had, and destroyed without second thought.
But he knows.
I'd be very skeptical if one day out of the blue you came and told me you finally understand how to love someone, and make them happy, even when they're mad at you, that they found you.
But he knows.
Some days I do wonder if you were really stupid enough to kill yourself. I could be heartless and say that doesn't matter to me anymore, but I will say that I would be a little sad, and I think I might even pity you. What a shocker. Maybe I am heartless for writing this, solely for the imaginative purpose of informing you that I'm doing quite well, but guess what: I fucking deserve it.
Did you read all of that correctly? I know it might be a bit difficult, but that's why they invented Google Translator. Say it with me: I kicked you out, not you, me. Out of my life. For, I hope, good.
Huzzah for schadenfreude,
The foot in your ass
Writing Exercise #5: But He Knows
