An old letter, never sent.

I grew up with you. Smiled and cried while you lived in and out of me through the years. You would invite me to your apt in Spain when you were lonely or not invite me to Finland when you went to see your girlfriend with the wonderful breast.

You always handed me insults decorated in compliments and compliments decorated in insults. You would bore me with your various successes and conquests, looking at me, evident, for any sort of movement of expression.

I let you down every time, I was bored.

You were always welcome to come back and tell me that my hair smelled nice and clean like no one has ever touched it.

Once when I lit a cigarette, a kindly old gentleman said,
“Oh, you’re to pretty to smoke.”
“I am on strike against vanity; this cigarette is my protest sign” I responded.
“I love you” you said.
This was the first time you said this sober.
It would seem lovely save it was only said as a pat on my back for treating the world (other than you) indifferent.
It was why we were, us.

(I’m sorry I fell. I skinned my knee. I was sober too.)

You didn’t like to see me laugh in the company of strangers if:
The stranger were as handsome adjective like, hmmm…”beautiful”
Could be used in the same sentence as the words “move”, “pursue” or “fuck”.
Was a noun any noun, pronouns like “you” were okay though.

I listened to your rants of women you’ve worshipped and the ones you wanted dead. I really couldn’t tell the difference between the two. I knew however that I was both to you. You spilled your secret every time you’d get drunk and curse me for not loving you.

I would never give you the satisfaction.

Didn’t you get it?!
That sort of love. That sort of love that you wanted from me reminds me of sitting in a reversed seat of a empty waiting room with the with a broken sign flashing exit, exit, exit.

We were. I thought. We were more than that.

Thick promises that later feel like shit and long painful goodbyes that look tragic when held in a charming sort of light. They were not for us, you and I. maybe for us with others and others without us but not for us, you and I.

We were. I thought. We were more than that.
“Do you think I am possessive?” You hesitantly tempted a yes.
“We’re friends, I’m your’s and you are mine” I’d placate with puzzle piece honesty.

(Come here. I held your head and through your thick hair drew an outline of your brain)

The last time you had kissed me you- you came to claim me, save me once and for all. I guess you must’ve forgotten the 2 years prior when you “disowned” me for “being the kind of stupid regular girl who would even consider marrying a guy like that.

It had been so many years yet you came around like I could somehow keep you. I could never keep you. I would never say this to you but you are far too blatant. You would want my bones just so you could bury them.

We walked with your eyes glaring at my “last cigarette”
“That is so disgusting” you’d spit with such nurture.
“Yeah well sunssshine, I need something to regulate the diet pills, whiskey and stalking fits I’ve made habits lately.” I’d roll from my eyes.

You cursed my broken heart for being broken over a boy
who could care less about me and
you were
right.

7 out of 10 times you were right. It was the most consistent anyone has ever been with me so in turn I believed you (for the most part)

Your cold words on the tips of your fingers always felt like prayers when being pushed into my warmest parts.
I packed my things. You packed my things and declared that I wasn’t living my life, that I would die if I lived in tedious monotony and that I could not die because you needed me.

You saved me in a way.
Exposed me.
Loved me, naked.

I’d cry now but I’ve allowed my tear ducts to rust and can’t.
I’d be angry but I’ve never been able to hold unto anger long enough for it to matter.
Its like I said,
Thick promises that later feel like shit and long painful goodbyes that look tragic when held in a charming sort of light. They were not for us.

Now, I admit in the face of sounding so awfully entitled,
You let me down, man
and I think that
you suck.

Love Me

Love,
Me