I’m not mad anymore. Not really. You confessed to me your New Year’s resolution. It wasn’t hurt it was disappointment I felt. Disappointed in finding another jerk who doesn’t really give one crap about me. Disappointed in continuing to talk to someone I knew was bad for me. Disappointed in myself for letting it happen. I never told you my New Year’s resolution: to never end up with someone like you again.
I really want to just say hi, ask you how you have been doing. But how unwise that would be. I would get sucked back into our constant loop. I’m sick of caring when you don’t, it’s not fair. Not even in the slightest.
Tell me though was it a nice feeling when I helped you time and time again and you threw me aside like last week’s trash? Or did you not even think about me at all? Was I just something to fancy you once in a while, something you could use and then turn off when you didn’t need it anymore?
Why? Why did you continue to talk to someone who you didn’t care about? My mother kept telling me “that boy, he’s just like your father…bad news.” She was right. She had always been right about you. Maybe that’s what bugs me, everyone told me it was a bad idea, including myself, and I didn’t listen. Why didn’t I listen?
I didn’t write this to ask you a million questions you’re never going to answer, or even going to read for that matter. But I did realize I can never talk to you again as much as I want to. Because talking to you would be like an alcoholic taking a sip of beer. An unnecessary risk.
I just wanted you to understand somehow, I guess you never will. I’ve spent too much time and energy on you so I suppose this is my goodbye. One that you’ll never hear, never will be uttered from my lips. But it will be present in the air when we see each other again. And I can move on, start again, and leave you behind. Like I should have a long time ago.