For you, my dear, there is no beat or pulse or even slightest skip of heart, for my strings have been cut short and my shackles removed. You have no power over me or my body or my pillowcase anymore.
You are but a blurred face whose name I can’t remember, and you no longer control my thoughts or my veins or my mirror reflection. I no longer compare myself with her or wonder what I need to improve or remove from my plate, for it was not me or her that was ever unsatisfied or wanting more—it was you, always you.
I catch myself laughing in window reflections and know that I don’t need you to make me happy or feel beautiful. I am happy and I am beautiful without your approval. You no longer influence my mood or my relationships or my choice of clothes, for you are just a pauper without a puppet, and I am free to do what makes me truly happy.
You no longer get to play your rigged game with me or use unfair advances to put me down, for you do not govern my actions or emotions anymore. Leaving was the best move you made, Little King, for this pawn has turned to a Queen and your board has been overthrown.
You no longer make the moves or get to say nasty things to hurt my feelings. No, you, my dear Blurred Face, get to do none of that anymore. The ball is not in your court, and it will never again be—you play alone from now on. There is also not a single ounce of hate or love or sadness in my blood for you, because you are just a silly little boy with a silly heart and a twisted tongue.