dear dominic,
i don't like you. i don't i swear.
it might take myself some convincing but i'm genuinely pretty sure i am over you.
you don't cloud any of my thoughts at any minute of the day and, honestly i don't even stalk your instagram anymore.
you're still pretty, though. but your hairs changed even more than it had the last time i wrote to you. it's like, flatter now and more brushed out, kind of like a bowl. i'm not a fan, to be honest.
i think you could be nice if you liked me, it's almost temperamental. it's just i know you dislike me, here's why:
remember when joseph murone sent dick pics to emilia when i was with her?
remember how it blew up and emilia and i got so much shit for it?
remember how you texted me for the first time in months only to ask why i'm such a bitch?
remember how you went up to my brother to tell him how much of a bitch i am.
do you remember, dominic?
you fucking ass.
you spoke to me in such a demeaning way. i told you:
"you, of all people, don't have the right to speak to me like this"
speak to me like i don't know that i did a bad thing.
but fuck, man, i'm human i'm sorry.
you werent involved in the situation. why couldn't you fuck off.
when you texted me that day, when i saw your name on my screen. my heart did stop, but, in the worst way possible.
i wanted to hurl.
the thought of you makes me sick.
goodbye, i guess.
