It would be impossible to describe, in under 20,000 words, how much I don’t love you anymore.
The last time we were together was like the first time I went fishing for compliments at a sewage treatment plant.
Your breath stank worse than a plastic door to a latrine in a gold mining town. It was like inserting something into something that should never have had something inserted into it. A dead horse beached on the extra bed for two weeks would have smelled better.
As I walked home that night, I saw your cat laying alongside the road. His legs were frozen mid-stride in a run. It was difficult to tell what was tongue and what was brain’s squished out of his mouth. I remember thinking; “my thoughts must have killed it.”
I felt bad for your cat too, but I don’t feel bad for you. Not anymore anyway. The thing I never understood was why your sister was murdered and what the issue was with the families of the other two victims who woke up in bed wearing the same old clothes.
And when I am phasing in and out of cyberspace, I hope you can hear me softly say, “Save the whales.” I hope you listen too, maybe even smile for a change, and walk past that moldy can spam on the sidewalk instead of picking it up and eating it. Well, you are what you eat though. I just wish you could have moved your feet in a slightly different direction instead sinking in that pit of tar.
Whatever you (don’t) do, it shouldn’t come as a surprise when the next person—you fuck over—leaves you too.