For a letter here from me, so here it is.
I don’t love you anymore. Happy? I don’t even like you that much anymore.
I don’t know what more to say other than that, so I’ll save my pennies, you can have your new work girlfriend. The new token fat girl. Whatever floats your boat, I’m not now, nor would I ever gain 50lbs to make you happy.
She must have serious guts to deal with you, and/or such low self esteem that anyone who looks her way makes her swoon. I know initially I had the latter problem. I still do of course, because the last thing you would ever want to help anyone who has a vagina with is self esteem. I mean for fucks sakes, just imagine if we cared an iota about ourselves? Or thought that we were worth something – ANYTHING. Well, hell, we would quickly see through you and run as fast as our legs could carry us.
Anyway scum-puppy, good luck with all that. Enjoy your new doormat – I’d warn her, but she wouldn’t believe me anyway, and frankly I don’t care that much.