• March 9th.

    by  • March 10, 2012 • To You • 1 Comment

    Happy Birthday Asshole.

    I still miss you.
    I still love you.

    You’re like House. The perfect jerk.

    God, I really miss us sometimes.

    I still wonder if you ever gave a fuck about me.
    Then or now.

    I wonder if you ever think about me, where you aren’t calling me a heartless whatever.

    Of course I’m heartless, stupid.
    You took my heart, you beat the shit out of it, and stomped on it in front of my face. Then you shot it with a shotgun. And ran it over with a cement roller.

    Happy Birthday Wayne.

    One Response to March 9th.

    1. Jessie
      April 17, 2013 at 10:43 pm

      Whoever is writing these letters. Stop. I know him. He isn’t worth it.
      Get a hold of me. We can talk it out. I can help you. I got over him. It’s possible. It’s hard, but possible. He’s just a manipulator. You can’t let him control you.
      I’m his ex. Jessie. Yeah. I’m sure you know me. I’m sure I know you for that matter. We all run in that same circle. Please get in contact with me. I’m on Facebook. I’ll contact you myself. I have a hunch who you are, and I want to help.
      He drove me to attempting suicide. Don’t let him control you the same way.

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