Holy shit, am I glad you dumped me.
I was 16, you were 19. I was a high-school suburban sophomore; you were a guy with a guitar and a beard.
Before I get into this, I have to ask, what was with that ball and chain necklace? I mean even for the early 2000’s, that was a little outdated. I guess you were still living that 90’s grunge dream, huh? By the way, Kurt Kobain has been dead for almost 20 years. Move the fuck on.
You were the first one to ever introduce me to alternative ideas about society, about reality, about questioning everything I was ever told in pursuit of an enlightened truth. I was fucking fascinated by you.
You played me songs that you wrote with deep lyrics “I couldn’t possibly understand the meaning to,” you preached with pragmatic titles like “Barbie Was a Pool-Hall Whore.” That’s not deep. That doesn’t even fucking make sense. And please, save me the tirade of “It’s art. It doesn’t have to make sense.” I seriously might have a brain aneurism if I ever hear that again.
We drank cheap beer that you bought with your fake ID. We sat outside of your parents’ townhouse and talked about our dreams. We smoked American Spirit cigarettes and I couldn’t get enough of you.
I trusted you. I trusted you enough to give you all of me. And one night, I did.
It was emotional. It was scary. I didn’t know what I was doing. You assured me I was doing fine. I was planning on my first real relationship. Apparently you had something else in mind.
Because at six in the morning, as I gathered my things to go home and make it look as if I never snuck out of my house, you told me you weren’t looking for a girlfriend.
…..Right? Wasn’t that like, the biggest dick move? I drove home devastated. I cried the whole way listening to Hilary Duff. Don’t judge me.
But you know what, man? It’s alright. Seriously, it’s all good. Because you know what happened?
I graduated from high school with honors and went on to college.
…and you stayed at home in Vegas.
I had a plethora of amazing experiences and made friends that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. While you…
…stayed at home in Vegas.
I turned from my awkward post-adolescent teenage into one sassy, sexy girl in her 20’s. You…
…stayed at home in Vegas. And lost most of your hair.
I started a career that allowed me to take care of myself and excel. You…
Got yourself a young girlfriend who worshipped you, and moved to Portland to pursue your musical career with your “like-minded people.” Essentially, you turned into a cliché.
Now it’s 10 years later and I’m listening to your second “musical project” on Spotify. Why? I have no idea. Because I’m fascinated by the past. Because I’d like to know just exactly what you think of me. Did you figure out that I was totally amazing and that you were a complete asshole?
Maybe I’ll never get my verbal closure from you. Maybe I’ll never know exactly what you were thinking.
But I’ll tell you what: Do you remember that night I randomly ran into you at a bar where you were playing a gig?
If you don’t, I’ll remind you. Your mouth dropped and your eyes widened. You were practically shaking when you approached me. I believe your exact words were “holy shit, is that you?” The night progressed; you sang your dumb songs and made eye contact with me whenever you could. I was hit on by other guys; you gave them death stares.
That said it all, darling.
You’re still pining away at your crappy musical career and trying to be prophetic to our “lost generation.” I’m progressing, traveling, growing, pursuing my passions and trying to experience everything I can, while I still can.
So thank you. Thank you so much for letting me go. I truly don’t know where I would be if I had ended up being your long-term girlfriend.
Oh. And I win.