Number one, I still think about you.
Two, the day we ended, I automatically picked up my phone to tell you what a shitty day I had had, only to realise that you weren’t there to listen anymore.
Three, when I found out about you cheating, I wondered whether I had magically stopped understanding what words mean, because it made more sense for me to forget a language I’ve spoken my entire life than for you to hurt me this way.
Four, every time the thought of you touching her crossed my mind, my knees turned to this weird imaginary jelly and i wanted to puke out the very same jelly but there was no jelly to puke, just this nauseating disgust deep inside of me which I just couldn't seem to get rid of.
Five, I came across a letter in which you told me that I never deserved to be treated with disrespect, like the guys I dated before you. You promised to never hurt me. I wonder where along the line you forgot about that.
Six, leaving you was hard. It took me three cigarettes and one and a half pints of beer to finally get the courage to text you. I was afraid your voice would be able to convince me to stay.
Seven, I am not trying to prove to you that I’m happy because the fact is, I’m not. I was not happy before you came into my life, and I haven’t remained happy after. My life isn’t this amazing place now that you’re not here. But I do know that leaving you was good for me. I’d rather be alone than be with someone who stopped caring.
Eight, I remember lying next to you, the last time we met, thinking this isn’t the life I want, ten years down the line. I do not want to be with a man who is not in love with me anymore. I don’t want to go back from making love to having sex where you only cared about your pleasure. I don’t want to settle for this mediocrity.
Nine, I don’t regret the relationship, I regret letting you hurt me again and again for the last few months thinking you need time to get back to normal. I regret staying to watch the compassion in your eyes fade away. I regret thinking you needed time to fall in love with me again.
Ten, I often think about whether you think of me, whether your computer is also filled with unsent letters and feelings, whether you realise that you broke me, whether you feel guilty. But I also realise that the answer doesn’t matter. Maybe it never will.