I can’t believe you’ve moved on so quickly. I can’t believe you were able to replace me with such speed and precision. If ever there was proof that you have metal gears inside your chest cavity, this is it. Did you ever love me? Did you ever feel anything when you were with me? Is she prettier, smarter, better in bed than I was?
I think you were with me as long as you were only because there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Because the end was constantly in sight. You had the perfect out. You were leaving. And then you did it, you left.
Now I’m here, thousands of miles away, feeling like I’m constantly on the verge of vomiting my heart out of the place it’s taken up residence in my throat. Not because you left, but because it’s perfectly clear now that I was suffering under a delusion for the past year. The delusion that you loved me, or had the capacity to love me. The delusion that you enjoyed being with me. The delusion that what we had was something special. Obviously I was wrong. It was something cheap and easy and you (have proven you could) find it in a million other places, with a million other girls.
I knew it the moment I found the porn searches. But you talked me out of it. You with your charm and your earnest head tilting. I knew it but I wanted to believe you because I loved you, and more than that, more than anything I wanted to believe that you loved me. So what if I couldn’t be described by the keywords “petite”, “skinny”, and “asian”. You wouldn’t have been with me, for over a year, if you didn’t like me. If you didn’t care about me. You wouldn’t have said “I love you” if you didn’t mean it.
But you did. You did, you did, you did.
I hate you. Not because of all of this, no. That’s not the worst part. That’s not the part that makes my breath catch in my throat and my chest ache. The part that brings those hot, stinging kind of tears when an image, scene, word that reminds me of you materializes arbitrarily in my day-to-day attempts at living. The worst part, that part that I want to verbalize only in guttural, heart-wrenching words that approximate how deep this cuts, is that you aren’t, won’t be, this way with her. You will be her knight in shining armor, you will be warm and caring and tell her that you love her. And you will mean it and she will believe you. Because she’s everything you want and everything I wasn’t.
This was… disposable to you. I was disposable, replaceable. Common. And now that you’ve found something better, you’ve become better. You’ve become better for her, when you wouldn’t for me.
I hate you, I hate you.
I hate you.