… to be continued, indeed.

Question: Why are you still reading these words?

It’s a good question, huh? I don’t read your website. I don’t peruse your journal. Fuck – We don’t even talk anymore, so what’s the deal here?

Jake leans back in his chair, twirls his hair, and says: “Careful. I’m not the most healthiest guy on the planet. I have demons you haven’t met yet.”

She don’t care. She’s in Bermuda, on an island in the heat, about ready to fuck a boy on a balcony. She’s gonna cum to the sounds of Nat King Cole.

And then what? What next? What after? More drinks? Good times?

I don’t wanna be like the lady at the Super Quick. She complains about her life, each and every day. That would’ve been me, stuck in Villa Park.

I’m grateful for many experiences. Experiences I could’ve never had with you. You were too insecure, too jealous, too unkind, too beyond absent.

I remember sitting at a Starbucks listening to you tell me that I would regret breaking up with you; that I couldn’t/wouldn’t live without you.

How incredibly sick of you to say. So cute too. Thank you for teaching me how to spot a narcissist, which is a skill that continues to help me to this day.

I don’t understand victim mentality. Sally says: “Show me on your heart exactly where the bad man hurt you.” For fucks sake. You? The victim?

I’m sorry, but heartless narcissistic cunts are not victims. They don’t even bleed. They merely breed and attach to another host. A human parasite.

One can most surely experience cognitive dissonance in a relationship, always trying to justify the constant mental discomfort of being with you.

I have no desire to get wet again. Been there, done that, like oh-so many others; and let’s be honest in that you just don’t have it in you anymore.

You were a mirage. A novelty. A mere optical illusion, no different than one of those fucking autostereogram paintings – which I could never see.

No matter how much I tried, how much I squinted, how much I gave it my all, I simply could never adjust my eyes enough to see you – to see depth.

Query whether you ever existed, and who were you really all tangled up in blue. I dunno. Not my circus, not my monkeys, anymore. I’m good here.

Which takes me back to Starbucks, and makes me think perhaps your comments were projection – that you couldn’t/wouldn’t live without me.

To be continued…