Dear Dumbass,

[tidal_race]

            When it all comes down to it, it’s the same old shit again. And I won’t do it. My mom tells me I’m a bitch. I’m not. In fact, I’ll give just about anybody more than their fair share of chances to hurt me. I’m learning when that’s worth it and when it’s not. Somehow, I think this is a not. I don’t like drama. I don’t like confusion. I don’t like second-guessing. And that’s all this leads to. I want to be friends, but you can’t seem to let that happen. It’s like you’re not happy until things are just a little more fucked up than they need to be.

            Guess what? She’s leaving you. She’s right. She can’t have Florida and have you, no matter how much it hurts. Neither of you are old enough for that kind of commitment. Even if you were, it would be a ludicrous idea. You’re going to be separated by nearly the entire continental U.S. Let her let you go. It’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch, but someday it won’t anymore, and it’ll be a lot better than dragging it out. Make your peace with it. We don’t always get what we want or what we think was meant to be.

            And I’m through. I tried. I talked to you and tried to sympathize when nobody I knew could comprehend why I’d even want to be your friend with what happened. I told them it was because I’d said I would. I keep my word. But as far as I’m concerned my parts done now. I can’t do this anymore, I won’t do this. I don’t think you want to be friends with me. Well, that’s fine. Someday maybe you’ll figure out what it is you do want. I’m pretty sure I’ll be long gone by then. When you apologized I don’t think you realized what it was you were apologizing for. Because in a way you’re doing it again, creating drama and uncertainty.

            You seem to think I still have feelings for you. Maybe I do, but they’re not any good. They’re the same feeling almost all the other experience with guys in my life has elicited. A sadness. An anger. A wish that it could have been different. But it wasn’t. And it wasn’t my fault what you did, but I allowed you the ability to hurt me. I’m not angry at myself about that anymore. I’m just sad. Any feelings I have left for you are really just traces of wanting to be wanted, to be liked. It’s a false feeling. So, just like the times before I have to let it go.

            If you were truly willing to prove to me that you actually realize what it was that you did wrong, instead of just offering lip service, then maybe, someday I could have actual genuine, good feelings about you again. But we both know you’re not. So this is my good-bye. I can be your friend if you’ll be mine, I can be a sympathetic ear, or just someone you say hi to every once and awhile, but I can’t be whatever it is I am now.