I thought I’d begin by saying “sorry, dear, it’s nothing personal”, but who are we kidding? This is as personal as it can get. And I also thought I’d be polite and civil – nah, civil-shmivil, I’ll just let it out. I’m sick of being a better person, of pretending I can handle all the shit your fan threw in my face all this time we’ve been together, so, forgive me if this time I’ll use the only kind of language you seem to understand.

Get out of my life, darling. Out with you, leave, shoo – and, do me a favor, don’t you ever look back.

You see, I’ve been such a foolish little girl, like the one the Shirelles are singing about. Oh yes, don’t be surprised that I’m able to take my fair share of the blame for this fucking catastrophe. I’m only just beginning and I need to be just; I was an idiot.

It was plainly idiotic of me to think that “once a liar” isn’t necessary followed by “always a liar”. It was my silly notion that everyone deserves a chance and their past shouldn’t be used against them, that every new person should be perceived as tabula rasa – an empty piece of paper. To use another favorite Latin phrase, however, mea culpa, baby. Mea mistake that I gave you a chance when your past was screaming at me that you didn’t deserve it.

But that’s pretty much the extend of my responsibility. The rest of our blood paints solely your hands.

You see, you were the one who dragged me into this mess that’s your head, when I had my – reasonable – doubts that it would work between us. You were the one who rent his garments that we were destined to be together and it would be… what’s that phrase you used? Oh, yes, “unforgivable” – we’d be unforgivable if we didn’t give it a shot.

And when the first signs of the upcoming snowstorm began to appear, you were the one that reassured me there was no reason for me to be afraid, I had to trust you and be brave. How ironic that, after some time, you were the one that turned out to be a coward – one who can’t even look me in the eye and stutter the truth I had guessed from day one, because you’re afraid you might lose me.

So, let me make this a little easier for you, my trembling Pinocchio; you’ve already lost me.

You never loved me. You never cared for me, no more than a patient cares for his nurse until his wounds are healed. You don’t know my favorite color, you can’t remember that I hate beer and you have no idea how to calm me when a nightmare wakes me up in the middle of the night.

After all this time we’ve been together, you still don’t know – you know why? Because you don’t care. It didn’t matter enough for you to learn all these things about me.

That’s why I bid you farewell and that’s why I’m kindly asking you never to look back. You didn’t look at me while I was still in your present, don’t try to do it once I’m in your past. Don’t let memories fill your head, don’t allow desire or lust to get the best of you and don’t decide to call me on a drunken night; for our memories are false, poorly printed photographs depicting two ghosts that were never actually in the same room.

It took me long enough to realize that, but I did, and I don’t want you in my life anymore. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m too good for you, honey. I’ve known all of you and I’ve loved all of you, just the way you were, while you were trying to use me as a floatation device, trying not to drown in an ocean of past mistakes.

I could have been your rescue, if you’d given me the chance.

And I know that, at some point in the future, you’ll realize that and you’ll want to try again. But that’s why I’m telling you “please, don’t” – because I’d hate to slam the door on your face twice.

Author: Petra Lane

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