4.10.07

Dear Trevor,

You won’t ever read this. I won’t print it out and mail it to you, as I’ve already erased your address from my address book. Which, perhaps, is for the best, since it was such a hassle for you to tell me your address when I wanted to send you a card for your eighteenth birthday. I won’t call and read it in a voicemail, seeing as how I promptly deleted your number out of my phonebook when you signed off. I won’t email it to you, I won’t post it as a comment, and I won’t instant message you. It’s not worth my time, broadband, minutes, or postage.

Can you believe it’s been a year since the inception of the debacle that was our “relationship”? A whole year. That’s a year’s worth of thoughts and emotions. A year more than you deserved. I spent a year on your back-burner, minding, but not saying anything, the times when you would put your car before me. I wasn’t a demanding girlfriend. All I asked was that you genuinely returned the same respect, concern, and compassion. What did I say when you forgot my birthday? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you told me, two days before, that you didn’t want to go to my homecoming after all? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you said you didn’t want to spend Valentine’s Day with me? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say to hurt you after you told me you had been in jail for the past two months? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you said, “you live too far away, it’s not worth the gas”? Nothing? Oh, ok. What did I say when you said, “I was just staying in town for you, and now that I don’t want you, why would I stay?”? Nothing? Oh, ok. You wonder how I became the “pathetic, no self confidence” girl I am today, not realizing that every hurtful comment you said to me cut deeper into wounds that were still healing.

Your words replay in my head. Words you don’t even remember saying. Words I’d reread at night and pretend you meant them. Take your words back.

I hate you for making me cry, again. I hate myself for settling for so much less than I deserve. I hate myself for drinking in all the bullshit you spoon fed me. But I hate you more. But I loved you more.

I did my share of staying on the bench. I did my share of forgiving. I did my share of compromising. You did your share of silent treatment. You did your share of guilt tripping. You did your share of ignoring.

I’ve rehearsed rejecting your apologies I know aren’t coming. You’ve rehearsed “I’ve never been this comfortable with anyone else” on other girls.

You came and went. I was always there when you needed me. And all the other hours of the day, every day of the week, every week of the month, every month of the year. Not that you ever noticed.

I want my words back. I want my time back. I want my texts back. I want my voicemails back. All I wanted was to be loved back.

This is it. No more. Goodbye.