i won’t tell you

“i figured that would happen eventually”

is not snarky enough. it’s not mean enough. for the first time since you broke up with me, i want to hurt you. i want to make you feel small. i want to eviscerate you with my words. i want to draw blood. i want you to believe that you really are a horrible human being, despite all my past reassurances to the contrary.

i hate loving you. i hate you for making me me think it was safe to love you. i hate you for pretending you could handle me loving you, for writing poems about me, for treating me well, for waiting to have sex with me instead of just fucking me on the first date and then rejecting me. it would have been easier. i want you to be in deep psychic pain over me. i want you to feel like you fucked up the best thing that ever happened to you.

but you won’t. because you don’t know the difference between loving me and lusting after me. at least you didn’t until you saw the way i loved you & realized what love looks like. what my love looks like. & you realized you could never love me as hard as i loved you.

you are in a hellish situation of your own making, but that’s not enough. i want you to feel how excruciating it is to love you. i want you to cry for weeks. i want you to worry about me every day and never know if i’m still alive, and i want that to torture you. i want you to spend every day wishing you had never met me & longing to see me again.

 

(written november 11 2012)

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