I Know You Miss Me, But I Don’t Miss You At All

I don’t miss you. I don’t miss your exaggerated tales, where I frequently had to read between the lines to differentiate between truth and fabricated lies. I don’t miss you constantly craving love and attention and diminishing me for my consistent lack of affection. I don’t miss paying your bills, then being made to feel guilty when I travel alone, leaving you behind.

I don’t miss the pile of dishes you left for me on the kitchen counter each day or my bathroom sink covered in your beard trimmings. I don’t miss your artwork on my walls or your warmth in my bed. I just don’t miss you. But I know that you miss me, that you still want me in your life. And you should. I catered to you and supported you when no one else could, or would.

You still visit my family regularly, which is honestly quite pathetic. I only wish that they could see past your façade, like I did, and see the manipulator that you truly are. I’m sure if my family knew about the thousands of dollars you owed me, or that you spent the better half of our relationship gallivanting around, seducing other women, they wouldn’t be so inclined to open their doors to you.

Now, let’s move on from wistful melancholy and follow it up with your acts of indiscretion and adultery.

I hate that you spent our three years together sifting through my phone messages and drawing your own false conclusions, in an attempt to make you feel superior while you ritually accused me of cheating. I hate it, because deep down I knew this stemmed from your own insecurities, and I was right to have had my suspicions.

Since instincts could only carry me so far, all I needed was time and proof. This posed to be quite a difficult task, because you were smart enough to wait until I was out of the country to perform your careless acts–or perhaps, it occurred while I was working seven days a week, to support not only myself, but you, too. However, while you may have been smart enough to cover up your tracks temporarily, you were never quite smart enough for me, and neither was your little whore (but don’t worry, we’ll get to that later).

I’ll admit to putting myself in the cross-hairs when we first met. You had a girlfriend, but I still pursued you. What did I care? She meant nothing to me, and at the time, you didn’t either. Unfortunately, as our torrid little love affair continued and deepened, I developed feelings and decided to walk away. Your solution was to leave her, because I was worth the risk. I never asked for this, but I certainly allowed it.

I do feel the need to stress that our “honeymoon” phase occurred throughout the duration of time that I dropped you off in her comforting arms each night, and your risk-taking only put us in a positioned routine of consistently breaking up and getting back together.

Naturally, the combination of your infidelity mixed with our inconsistent relationship resulted in the inhibitions that we never overcame in our three bitter years together. I suppose I can’t really blame you for cheating. It’s in your nature, after all. You had so many empty voids that I wasn’t remotely capable of filling and after all your blind accusations, I certainly lacked confidence and fell short of being the girl you once heedlessly loved.

Lucky for me, a little troll came along and gave you all the attention you so desperately desired. While I was off vibrantly living my life in different countries, you were playing in her waters under her dirty, repugnant bridge.

She obsessed over you since day one. You silly, stupid boy. You shouldn’t have underestimated me. I have a strong intuition that consumes my very entity. I have eyes and ears everywhere, and not just my own. You probably had no idea that I knew she left her boyfriend for you, shortly after meeting you. I’ll give credit where credit is due. At least she was courteous enough to remove herself from a relationship, which is more than I can say (on several accounts) for you.

You turned to her for “advice” on our relationship, constantly broadcasting the weakest parts in our foundation. You gave her hope. But then again, you did this because you knew it fueled her hope, and her hope is what comforted you, a comfort you precariously sought out. She’s not wrong for falling for your charm, especially after you painted me to be such a horrid person. Perhaps if this story didn’t have such a familiar pattern, I would be less understanding. Alas, I stood where she stood three years ago and I can’t blame the girl for trying. Unfortunately, I can blame her for being stupid and for underestimating her opponent, for lack of a better word.

I digress. I left you for my own reasons, revolving entirely around your blatant lies and manipulation. Although I had my suspicions, it wasn’t until five months after I sent you packing that I learned the truth concerning your antics under her bridge. My deepest intuitions proved true.

Your sweet little troll had a severe lack of judgement, and extended an invitation of friendship my way. I accepted, as I respected her ownership and accountability when confronted about her feelings towards you. At the time, I had given you the benefit of the doubt in assuming they were just one-sided, not to mention, what kind of “side-chick” befriends the ex-girlfriend?

Unfortunately for you both, my intuitive nature made no indications of subsiding. Months had passed, and still she obsessively talked about you. She told stories and presented timelines of her own that were as significantly questionable as yours. Everything was a competition. She was always so desperate to appear better than me. I allowed it, chalking it up to her young age, immaturity, and lack of proper life experience. It humored me.  In actuality, these were all major derivatives of her guilt. That, or she was “single-white femaling” me.

Manipulating you both was easy. It wasn’t easy, because I’m good at it. It was easy, because I was right, and I had nothing to lose. I didn’t care what the outcome was. I didn’t care if I was wrong. Well, maybe I would have cared a little about being wrong, as it seldom happens. But I wasn’t, and you were both caught, inadvertently, with your pants down… so to speak. You both belong together. Go on, you have my blessing. Not that you ever cared for it, anyway.

I sincerely hope that our paths never cross again, because if they do, I’ll know I’ve travelled down the wrong one yet again.