Memory will lay its hands upon your breast/And you will understand my hatred

You no longer speak to me, with me, of me.

I miss you.

You were me, in a mirror. How I could have been, would have been—should have been.

You were a major part of the random bits and pieces we accrue during our lifetimes that round one out and make one a real person.

What happened? Did I do something wrong? Was friendship too much for you? I have to admit, even then I wondered if you had any part in your not returning to uni. As time goes by, I become more and more assured that you did. Why did you lie? Why bother? All things considered, I would have thought you’d have preferred just dropping everything and not looking back—like you do now. Did you realize that consistent dishonesty takes more effort than you were willing to put in?

I should have seen it coming. I do that too often—refuse to see the train behind the oncoming light.

To be honest, the pain has gotten worse, not better. Not only is the pain still there (undiminished), but bitterness and anger have set in, and I’m only barely keeping the hatred at bay. At this rate….well, even in one’s journalings, some things are better left unsaid.

I’m not even sure if I want an answer to the ‘why’ anymore. It would probably put my mind at ease a bit, but it wouldn’t actually help anything. Even with this knowledge, though, I keep wanting to know why you ever bothered since you were only going to screw me over in the end.

As much fun as we had together, I should have realized that it was too much fun to be real. I wish it had never happened. I wish we had never met. I wish many things, but mostly, I wish the same thing will happen to you.

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