I’ve somehow convinced myself that I’m over you.  I may not be completely over our relationship or having you around to keep me company, but I’m over you.  I’m over the ways you hurt me and the lies you told.  I’m over the person you became (or perhaps always were).   I’m over you because the last few months of our relationship numbed me and prepared me for this pain.

It’s true.  Were you to magically appear in my apartment, proclaim your love for me, and present me with the hugest rock known to man (think Taylor Swift’s “Love Story”), I still wouldn’t change my mind.  I’m done.  I’ve finally been pushed to the point I never thought I’d be pushed to.  These twenty-eight days of “no contact” have given me the clarity I so desperately needed.

I’m still mad though.  It’s gonna be awhile before that changes.  I’m mad at myself for letting it go so far, but I’m mostly mad at you for making me think you wanted to be someone you aren’t.  And I’m mostly mad at you because I don’t think I can handle being too mad at myself right now.

I hope I can get to a point where I wish you love.  I may be mad at you, but I don’t hate you. I’ve learned some valuable life lessons because of you, you know.   Some fucked up things took place, but you were still the first man to love me.

Yes, one day I’ll wish you love.  You weren’t able to be the man I needed you to be, so I pray one day you’ll become the best man you want to be.

I think you’d want the same for me.

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