“I broke up with you online?!?!?” Why yes, yes you did. An “I don’t know” response to this question: “Are you going to break up with me” makes it very apparent what you intend to do. Any uncertainty, any hesitance is a clear sign that you no longer want me. Yes you broke up with me in an email. No I don’t care about the conversation you posted on your blog. It was obvious what it was after you deleted it.
He admitted to not wanting me. I knew it. I could feel it towards the end. He stopped saying that he was mine. He stopped looking in my eyes. It was clear. I think that is probably the most hurtful. Not being wanted. Especially when you want someone so much that you can feel it; it courses through your veins and resounds in the pit of your stomach. Your bones ache for them, your flesh crawls for them. If only he could be like him... If only I was something that someone wanted. If only I was good enough.
I honestly can’t say that I’m feeling better. As a matter of fact, I think I’m feeling worse. Talking to him didn’t help, it was only the salt needed to keep these wounds reminding. A reminder of equating to some girl, some girl he knew from high school, some girl they know who isn’t right.
I love music. It has a way of articulating my feelings; feelings I know I have and those I can’t quite put my finger on. I listened to a Bonnie “Prince” Billy song this morning that reminded me of him. When we first began seeing each other I tied him up in it. “And the softest lips ever, twenty five years I’ve been waiting to kiss them, smiling and waiting, to bend down and kiss twice, the softest lips.” I ended up crying off all of my strategically placed make- up. I was late for work.
Lastly, I was advised that guys, regardless of who ends the relationship, always put the blame on the girl. His pointing finger is a circular reference you know.
If I’m not right for you, who will I fit with in the end
When the path darkens and no one’s around
Laying still in coldness, searching for warmth
Only to find blankets bunched
No responses to my questions
Just my own voice echoes
Staring into eyes across the room
Aren’t yours or anyone that I can hold
Just distant ones from times before
Before the last breath is breathed
Before the last sight is seen
Before the last heart beats
Perhaps that bed is just a premonition
For a place I’m destined to lay
A place I’m forced to stay
Where there is no light
No life from outside
Re-circulated air
Re- circulated thoughts
Dreams of being something to someone
Anyone
And before the last breath is breathed
Before the last sight is seen
Before the last heart beats
I am engulfed
And for a moment
There is peace where sadness once was
Love in place of hatred for mistakes
I am something for someone.
I was told to make a list of all of the things I hate about him and read it as frequently as possible. Here goes…
I hate how you try to make yourself look good by talking about things other people don’t know about.
I hate how you clearly think you’re better than most people.
I hate how everyone always tells you how smart and beautiful you are when you’re so undeserving of such praise. Compliments like those are meant for people who appreciate them. They are meant for people who need to hear them. You need neither. Your head (that lump a few feet above your ass) is big enough as it is.
I hate how you use words that I don’t know.
I hate how you flip everything back around on me.
I hate you avoid taking responsibility at all costs.
I hate how you don’t take suggestions or advice.
I hate that you keep secrets.
I hate the fact that you have absolutely no feelings what so ever—on that note: How does it feel to be completely emotionally inept? Wait you wouldn’t know what it’s like to feel, would you? I mean that is a HUGE area to be lacking in. Oh wait, I can think of another area, equally as important, that you are lacking in....
I hate that I never seemed good enough to care about.
I hate that you treat your friends better than me; I should be treated with AT LEAST the same amount of respect as they are.
I hate that I’m reminded of you; by songs, by Ryan, by nothing in particular at all.
I hate that you lead me on by saying things like, “when we get married, I’ll help pay off your student loans.”
I hate that you refuse to shop at Wal-Mart but you’ll wear Nikes which were made in sweat shops by little kids.
I hate how you would say, “You want to go to Burger King? So we can get you a crown? Because you’re such a drama queen…” when I didn’t even do anything dramatic.
I hate how I was so open minded for you and it doesn’t seem to matter.
I hate that I spent so much time trying to fix the way I am for you.
I hate that every time I got angry, I minimized it so you wouldn’t have to feel the real wrath of myself.
I hate that every nice thing I did for you seemed to go unnoticed.
I hate how I spent money on you when I had no money; and it’s not that I felt like I had to, but because I wanted to; and you never seemed to be grateful.
I hate how you said you would never lend me money, even if I was in a bind like being evicted.
I hate all of the empty promises that were made.
I hate that you never chased after me.
I hate that you made me fall for you.
I hate that right now, this very moment, you are making me hate myself.
I hate so much about the way that you chose to be. *
*This is a quote from the Office, season two, "Sexual Harassment"
