San Francisco

After I asked, you didn't come back. You never came back for me. That Sunday in the park, you left and didn't come back. You didn't call. You drove away and didn't say why or when. You drove off being smug. I wanted to rip the smirk of your disgusting laughing face.

I think that was the point that drove me mad. You never came back. Again, you lied and let me down. Why do you lie only about important things, always thinking this lie will be easier than the truth; not understanding that knowing something so important to me was lies will only hurt more? How can you be so ignorant? How many times do I have to say?

And worse still, I watched everyone else have someone come back for them. You left me to stand on my own; constant reminder of my own worthlessness. You didn't think about what you and your pathetic lies would cost.

You didn't think of me twenty minutes after you left to drink with your friends.

I want to forgive, I do. I want to fix this, start anew, move forward, but you have to understand how hard it is for me with that fact: YOU NEVER CAME BACK. I keep tripping over it in my efforts to be "friends." I keep seeing it when I try to forget. It stays with me every second; eating away at all the good that once was, tainting everything until it is the only thing I see. I want to fix this but don't know how. I cannot take back all the things I said and did, you can't erase the fact that you didn't come back.

When I leave for San Francisco, I don't think I'll see you. Maybe we're too far gone to forgive and it is easier this way, a new life for me devoid of anything you ever touched. I can be someone entirely different; focus on my new school and job. Don;t call or try to find me. Don't try. You never came back now you'll stay gone, I made sure of that when I wrote my email. I wanted to burn the bridge so you'd never again waste my time with your senseless shameless lying. Forever, you'll go away and I'll be too far to contact. New things and new faces in a city far from New York, far from all of this.

I've become obsessed with revenge. I want you to hurt, hurt like you hurt me. I want to squeeze out all your lies, even the score so you'll know how it felt and I feel satisfied enough to move on. But that isn't feasible.

You threw me away. Nothing will ever hurt as much as that. Not even San Francisco.