• Did you forget about me?

    by  • February 10, 2011 • Anger, Friends, Frustration, Grief, Heartbreak, Letting Go, Lost Love, Moving On • 0 Comments

    Dear Exquisite Waste of Time,

    I hate that you do this to me, I hate that you keep me awake at night— how dare you even think that you have any right to envelop my mind for days upon days. You say all these things that you “mean” but you don’t really mean anything do you? You jackass. The worst part is I can’t hate you. I can’t let you go. You were my Christmas, my New Year, my summer. Every time you were broken, I’d put you back together—why can’t you return the damn favor? I truly believed in you, I guess that was my mistake. Shame on me for praying for you, hoping for the best, and wasting my wishes on a lost cause. You said that you’d wait, that we’d work it out, but you didn’t mean it. Right when I felt secure with someone, you went and uprooted everything. Everything. I cry myself to sleep—did you know that? I hope you’re happy, truly I do. I hope you are happy knowing that your “best friend” is sick and tired of your dumbass antics and whiplash statements. Did you know that I put up walls—for years upon years? Did you know that I shut everyone out, even my closest friends? Your arms were a sanctuary; they felt like a shelter in the shitty storm I was dealing with. And now I’m worse off than I was before. I hate this. How dare you kiss me and act like you cared—I actually cared. Did you know? Did you know that I meant every “I love you”? I guess not, because you kicked me to the curb. After almost a year, I mean nothing. This is hell to me. I let my ancient walls crumble in your presence, how could I be so naïve? Even when your new “toy” would treat you like shit, I’d still be there to tell you that you deserved better. I didn’t even realize that I was the one that deserved better, not you. You are selfish. I should have known better than to trust the partier, the one who treats girls like accessories. You said you changed for the better. I guess you didn’t. All the time I put in the relationship was just another second ticking away to you, wasn’t it? Even though we have all the time in the world, it’s never enough for you. My efforts aren’t enough for you even though I care more than you’ll ever get to know. When I hugged you, I meant it. When I kissed you, I meant it. Did you? No, you didn’t, because all I was to you was a filler. Well, I hope you’re happy knowing that I ruined my year because of you. I put so much effort into a cause that was always lost. When we spent this summer together, every day, I thought things would change; I thought you would change. It finally seemed like we were what we had always wished to be—together. Is it not enough to know that I sincerely and genuinely care about you? Every day we would spend together felt perfect. Hours upon hours just being together was security for me. I guess it isn’t enough for you, it never is. I thought that I was enough for you, at least you made me feel that way. All the embraces felt right, felt like they should have been that way a long time ago. Did I tell you I love you? Oh, right, only about 3,936 times. Did you ever mean it when you said it? Maybe it was just some automatic response you say to all your friends. I thought I was more than that, more than another friend. I thought I was your best friend, the one person that understood you. Hell, I have seen you through a lot more than most people. I know the real you. The “you” that would drunk text me at two in the morning, the “you” that would smoke weed in the backyard while your parents were the next house over at a dinner party, the “you” that was more broken than he’d ever let others know. I knew you. I still know you, or I think I do. Who are you? You talk to me nonstop every day, and then just shut me out because I am chasing my dreams? You kissed me goodbye, remember— at the stoplight? I do. You told me everything would be the same…could have fooled me. You PROMISED. Now nothing’s the same. We hardly talk, and you act like you want nothing to do with me. You’ve even moved on, rather quickly. Does she know? Does she know that I’m your alleged “best friend”? I bet she doesn’t. I bet you act like I never even existed. So here’s to you and to my wasted time. I’m through. Either be real with me, or be a part of my past; I don’t care, because I’m making something of myself, are you?


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