I remember the night I proposed. I wanted to do something you would remember, something that said I knew what would make you cry out of sheer happiness, something that would say we were meant to be. Our son was about three months inside of you, and I knew that even though I didn’t love you, I had to do the right thing.
Do you remember when we worked together, before you went on maternity leave, and everything i did was fruitless? Do you remember coming back to work, three months later, when I ran the store? Without you, I grew exponentially, without you, I shone.
When I was released from the mental hospital (which I was in because of you) and we were eating at that pizza place we always went to, and it was confirmed that you were leaving me, I wanted to die inside. And the next day, when you told me that you were fucking our manager at the I.H.O.P, and I cut my arm to pieces, I knew,…. .I knew that you were more fucked up than I.
In some small way, I have to say thank you. I was never happy with you, but I was willing to be unhappy, as long as our son lived in a solid home. You set me free. Leaving me was the kindest think you ever did for me.
I’m coming back to Florida in six weeks, and you ask me,”Can we still hang out?” I don’t think so. You’re a heartless bitch, and hope you get aids from your new boyfriend.