I don’t know what got us together in the first instance and I really don’t care.  We had chemistry from heaven, but our relationship – if one could call it that – was from hell.

I loved you, in point of fact, or at least that’s how I felt.  And, well, I thought you loved me, you even said so.  But, nope.

Then some years later, I meet you again.  I invite you over since I felt sorry for you.  Thankfully nothing happened, and I say this because ever since those three months of hell back in ’08 – that could have been avoided had you been honest in the beginning – well, I had lost all trust with you.  And without trust, there is no relationship.

For years I’ve been stewing with virtually no self-esteem because of you.  And all those years and botched attempts at finding new love later, I’ve come to realise that there was nothing wrong with me.  You were – and are – basically a psychopath.  You obviously don’t care about your kid you had before we met, and I’m thankful that incident that led to three months of hell didn’t get you pregnant by me.  You play the whole, “But I’m born again” bit, but you certainly don’t act the part.

One reading of that name you used was “beautiful serpent”.  Sums you up in a nutshell.  You’re certainly cute to look at, but that’s it.  You’re filled with venom and emptiness and evil.  I used to hate you, and I had for a long time, but now?  I don’t care.  I’m becoming indifferent.

This is me, single, and free.  Free of you.  Free to find real love.  I am older and wiser and not the stupid 21 year old virgin who let himself get exploited by your then-31 year old self.  Someday soon, you’re going to fetch up very ill in a circumstance of your own making.  Someday soon, your name will have no feeling at all for me, just indifference.  Maybe I’ll be still single.  Maybe I’ll have a girlfriend.  Who knows?  I know it won’t be you.

But I do have to thank you, Bee – you taught me a valuable lesson in life, one that I’ll take to heart from here to the grave.  And that is, you taught me what kind of person I don’t want to be.  Thank you.

Goodbye forever,

Kay