Your first lie: I shall have no communication with her.
According to your phone – given with eager permission – that was a lie.
And your second lie: I have nothing to hide.
What the f**king unicorn poop!
Because the timeline, if you do the simple math – you played two girls. Which you deny. No, shh. Yes, you were juggling us like flaming swords. But she had no idea I was flying beside her.
Congratulations. You successfully graduated from Pinocchio University. Don’t bother trying to squeeze into Geppeto’s workshop though. You won’t fit. You lie so well, you received honours.
Back to the timeline? The other girl would be here. She disappeared into the wind. I’d saunter through the door. Then when I left, she’d weasel back into your life. Classy. Like, salt-covered, chocolate-dipped, fingernail clippings classy.
After the lie behind door number one, you were “So sorry,” and “Tired of hurting me.” And I had zero reaction and empathy.
Behind door number two? I scrolled like a rabid lion as I saw her name repeated over and over. Invite? Football game? Concert?
What the f**king Narwhal sprinklings!
You told her what, when, and where? According to the timeline … wasn’t I just at your place barely an hour after this texts? Dude, have you no soul? Then, you made me feel guilty for reading those messages.
What the f**king elephant paws?
I learned the truth, and I feel zero guilt. You know, the truth. Clearly, you were jealous of the cathartic experience.
The saddest part? Your family and friends believe you’re innocent and delicate. Couldn’t hurt a fly. Maybe at one time this was true.
And to borrow a line from Patty Loveless – everything changes, and nothing ever stays the same. You’re changes aren’t for the better, yet everyone’s blind to them.
When we met, you were docile. You never raised your voice. No sign of anger issues. But holy rolling shitballs, what the f**king crows claws happened? Because I don’t feel safe with you anymore.
But this fly has dodged the swatter too long. No one believes you need help, despite my pleads. You stopped therapy. You refuse to go back even though you acknowledge you have intense issues.
Jesus, you punched the fridge last week!
I’m stepping out of the web. I can’t be part of this anymore. I can’t afford to lose myself again either.
And you need to seek help.
The other girl believes I’m out of your life. Tell her the truth. For once be honest.
You used to be, not too long ago.
I’ll forever care.