I understand that this will be taken the wrong way. I realize that you may read these words with the taste of my disdain lingering on your tongue, thinking that I am trying to explain why I was the greatest thing to stumble into your life since sliced bread (or since your weed grinder, I don’t know). How by breaking up with me you’re throwing away a gold mine of hand-crafted meals and epic Christmas gifts. But before you turn down that road, before you assume that this is all out of malevolence and my subsequently vain predisposition, hear me out. Take a moment from rolling your joint, set down your battered up guitar, and really absorb what I am about to ask of you. Please, for the love of any given deity, do not get back together with your ex.
Apart from the role as your most recent ex-girlfriend, I have been aptly appointed the position of “Well-Knowing-Friend.” I mean, come on, you’re the one who so bluntly stated “I think it would be better if we were just friends… y’know…” So here I am: steadfast and following, familiar and caring; your friend. Maybe you should have thought twice before agreeing to me as this? But ah well, it sucks; now you have no choice but to graciously accept my advice. Well, “graciously” may be a strong word, and so may be “accept,” but you have no choice but to sit yourself down and heed my caution. Because, man, that b-tch will f-ck you up.
Let’s not kid ourselves, throughout our entire “relationship” you never ceased to bury the hatchet of your ever-tortured past. With each conversation we mustered, the focus would slowly, yet predictably shift itself towards her. Her daddy issues, your fights as a couple, your high excursions, your chocolate syrup experiment (by the way, ew, don’t ever tell another girl about that kind of thing), and countless other anecdotes that I didn’t care to hear, but I listened to anyways. I was all ears, all heart, all helpful. Based upon the listening that I partook in, the following information was gathered.
She is cold. Frost bitten and hung out to dry on a much too high rack, you helped her down and dried her off. But the warmth never returned, and for some reason you thought it just might with the radiating heat of your regard. Instead, it left you lukewarm, perchance even chilled. Bland, squandered, and stoned into oblivion to cope. Here, I found you, and tried to do the same thing. Fortunately for me, I escaped from the gravitational pull before my temperature decreased into a hypothermic state. Parting with the frosted coat of your amour, I suffered no permanent damages. Forcing yourself back onto your iceberg, where she stranded you to begin with.
She didn’t love you. Not the way you loved her. Not the way I loved you. No, she wasn’t capable, and I think you know that better than anyone. Yet beyond that, I feel obligated to inform you that you are not obligated to fix her. It’s not your job to convince her that she is worthy, reinforce that she is enough, and persuade her that she will not disappoint. You’ve tried. You struggled, and persevered, and let her trample your little heart straight into the smithereens with her self-doubt. But she’s still as damaged as you found her, and she has broken and rebuilt you to be just the same. Trained you into submission of her every beck and call, even when you weren’t dating. Begging for your forgiveness and friendship, for you are all she has, and then turning her back on you right as you trip and give up.
Do not get back together with your ex-girlfriend because she will keep the same pattern as before. She wants you, she gets you, she has you, and she leaves you. Until you are unattainable again, the pattern will not restart. She cannot commit, and no amount of love or tenderness you provide will convince her otherwise. Your open heart, bleeding and forbearing, will be once more filled with her poison and then let to soak until she falls again.
That’s it. My part has been said, my two cents are on the table and my hands are clean of the situation. I’ll walk away, heel and toe, and not give a second glance at whether you take my advice or not. Go back to self-medicating your wounds and sleeping through your music. Scoff at my notes and play them off as the desolate dumpee. But I can see it when you look at her, and I can hear it when you say her name, that you know I am right. So please, save yourself the trouble, and do not get back together with your ex.