Dear Ex Lover

Dear ex lover,


I’ve given up on complicated introductions and reiterations of you in my mind.

It’s time I freed myself from your grasp.

You should know I no longer care.

You don’t mean anything to me.

It’s taken too much time to realize that.

Too many nights of soul searching over cups of boiling tea.

Thoughtlessly throwing myself at others.

Figuring it would work itself out in the end.

It’s not enough you apprehended my heart, but you tried to take my sanity along with it.

Jerking it by the arm out the gaping door.

I don’t regret what I’ve done now.

I did once.

A mistake, I’m sorry.

There’s no way to change the past.

And, besides, I don’t want to.


I remember when it first occurred to me.

That you might not be the one.

You were sitting next to me at a school football game.

I was cold.

You gave me your black leather jacket.

Dripping with stoic abhorrence.

“I hate this fucking place.” you divulge.

As if I haven’t heard this lecture before.

But you run your mouth to it’s breaking point.

Making sure to highlight every dirty detail you can imagine.

“And we’re going to get out of here as soon as possible.” you conclude.

Deciding my life before I have time to pick out a dress.

I watch they players on the field with a certain inclination of envy.

Their emotion-driven brains so simple and free.

They remind me of you, in a less cynical sense.

You glare at the people walking in front of us.

As if they’re to blame for your unhappiness.

Their eyes full of possibility and yours full of misanthropy.

“As soon as possible.” you repeat, taking hold of my hand.


At the time, I thought it was a sign of affection.

Now I realize you were trying to keep a hold on reality.


You were lovely.

You shared your clothes, especially that jacket.

You sang songs of deep, profound intelligence.

You were so natural and fluid.

And maybe, that’s what attracted me to you.

Your ease and adroitness.

And yet you held such a powerful presence.

When you talked, God stopped and thought for a moment.

You were the one no one knew, and everyone wondered on.

To catch you would be to win the competition no one was playing.

It happened.

I won.

It was love for awhile, and it could’ve been for a long time.


When the world was over its interest in you, you suddenly lost interest in it.

You found normality overrated.

Life was in constant disgust of you, and you felt likewise.

You were no longer the protagonist of this story you’d tried writing.

“You’re a child.” you told me.

“You never take things seriously.”

I was unable to fill this void for you.

I was too lost in my own aspirations, I forgot to give you every second of my day.

I forgot to not only fix my own problems, but now your unhappiness as well.

I was too fucking childish and that just wasn’t your style.


You sat on the sink, watching me shave my legs in the tub.

I was too naïve for your big bad ideas.

You contemplated the scar on my thigh.

I wasn’t worthy of being known as your love.

You kissed me in the safety of our privacy.

I couldn’t give you what you wanted.

What you wanted was a reincarnation of yourself, pretension in its finest form.


It was awful.

It was unbearable.

Salivating dogs tore at the inside of my insides.

I could not be consoled by such material objects as food or drink.

You ruined my life and I was intent on getting you back.


Things changed.

They always do.

I figured myself out, and in the process, you as well.

You weren’t everything you thought you were.

You we beautiful on the outside, yes.

But nothing gold can stay.

I got over the childish antics you used.

I became a bit more mature than you could ever dream of becoming.

Your self-indulgence led to a life of pure hatred for anything worth anyone else’s time.

I feel a bit bad for you now.

You probably don’t care, but I still do.

I pity your ignorance and obsession with despotism.


And i no longer care what you have to say.

You are no longer a dream that worms its way into the recesses of my brain.

I am tired of living up to unreasonable expectations.

And so, my former love, I bid you safe travels, a clear path, and love.

Though you don’t deserve one bit.



The One You Might Have Loved


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