Dearest Michael,
I am not “still in love with you”. I don’t think I ever was in love
with you, and you know damn well you weren’t in love with me. You
never said it once while we dated, instead choosing to say “I heart
you” like it’s the same thing. You later said it was because I “wasn’t
committed to the relationship”. Your idea of helping to ease me into
the relationship better was to tell me you fingered a 16 year old co-
worker. That makes sense, right? I thought so. AND I STILL FUCKED YOU
LIKE A WEEK LATER. Why? Probably because I was a naive 16 year old
myself, falling for your creepy 25 year old charms.
I don’t know anyone with a life as utterly lame as yours.
WheresGeorge should not count as a hobby, nor should geocaching,
answering chacha questions FOR A LIVING AFTER YOU WERE FIRED FROM
CHUCK E. CHEESE’S, doing awful handstands, LOST, owning a copy of
Barbie’s Fairytopia, and watching every episode of The West Wing ever
20 times. I think your hermaphrodite fetish is a bit obsessive, and
an excuse not to come out. The worst part of introducing you to
anyone was having to later convince them you weren’t gay. You said I
opened you up to the idea of pain while having sex, simply because I
was a self-injurer. Since I just laid there during sex, being 16 and
all, I’m pretty sure that was just you projecting dark creepy
fantasies onto me.
For the record: I hated when you slapped my tits, I
don’t want to carve my initals into your penis, and I wasn’t at all
turned on by the video you sent me (at school) of you violating
yourself with a Sharpie. What the fuck.
I think your attempts to contact me are pathetic and your threats to
move down here and go to school are empty. You fell in love with a 16
year old who isn’t 16 anymore. Deal with it.
