Dear Dale,
When I first left you, I felt like I was losing a necessity, like air or water. Everything we had done together now had a bitter, dark feel to it -- even when we babysitted, or did something with my friends. For months, I fought with myself over you -- half of me still wanted to go back, no matter how hard it was. I felt like any time I turned, I could see you, begging me to come back, that you would treat me well. But then I remembered that I was safe, that I had left you behind, along with my past in Wyomissing, Pennsylvania. And along with that, I remembered how many times I had gone back to you, and how many of those times you had actually changed (none).
When I first left you, I sobbed for days. But when I was crying those tears, I felt like I had finally been released, as if the tears had saved me from some horrible fate (most likely going back to you). And by the time I was done crying, you had left my short-term memory, gone to rot in my long-term. Finally, I was free from your hold, and no trace of you could be seen on me.
When I first left you, I remembered everything. But one night, I yelled at myself in the mirror of my new flat. I said, "Lexi Breena Macintyre, get yourself together! You left him, he's gone! Get over him, and find someone new!" So the next day, I went through my flat, and threw out anything that reminded me of you. It was freeing.
When I first left you, I sobbed for days. But when I was crying those tears, I felt like I had finally been released, as if the tears had saved me from some horrible fate (most likely going back to you). And by the time I was done crying, you had left my short-term memory, gone to rot in my long-term. Finally, I was free from your hold, and no trace of you could be seen on me.
When I first left you, things hurt. But ten months later, though I was free from you, I still missed you a little. But if you to ever came to where I was, wanting me back, I wouldn't have gone back to you. I worked for ten months on getting myself back, I wouldn't ever give that work to you. When I first left you, I felt like I was losing a necessity, like air or water. Everything we had done together now had a bitter, dark feel to it -- even when we babysitted, or did something with my friends.
When I first left you, I sobbed for days. But when I was crying those tears, I felt like I had finally been released, as if the tears had saved me from some horrible fate (most likely going back to you). And by the time I was done crying, you had left my short-term memory, gone to rot in my long-term. Finally, I was free from your hold, and no trace of you could be seen on me.
No trace of you was on me anymore, and I had found someone new to love, and who really loved me. Who? You ask. Who would love that wreckage of a girl? That's all I was to you, wasn't it? Well, my new love is... me. I've learned to love myself, finally.
At this point, you think I should be thanking you, right? But it was I who left you, not the other way around. It was I who decided I was better than the way you treated me. So, no, I'm not thanking you. I'm writing this letter because I feel sorry for you. If you stay the way you are, no one will ever love you. I'm writing this letter to inform you of that. It's your choice if you choose to listen to my advice or not.
~ L. B. M.
