You wrote me off long before that week in September. One bad reaction didn't decide things for you, it might have confirmed it, but it didn't decide them. You wrote me off so you didn't need to tell me you were marrying someone else, I wasn't entitled to that anymore. You wrote me off so you didn't tell me I was fucking things up. I wasn't worth the courtesy of it, or telling me I don't give you what you want or that you were gonna break up with me You can sit there in be in love with me and I do belive you are, but you wrote me off in your head long ago. You love me, but it doesn't make me worth jack shit to you any more
God you would have just said whatever you thought I needed to hear over hat week and longer if necessary. I forgot what a manipulative bastard you can be. I guess I figured maybe I wasn't subject to it as much as the rest, but then I have the horrible realisation I'm no better than anyone else to you. I almost believed it for a second. My perfect guy, the one my jaw dropped to the floor for, the one miles out of my league, who I didn't think would give me a second glance. You did, you fell in love with me, from an ocean away, so eventually I got to think maybe I had something going for me to get a guy like you. I believed it for a shining moment. And then I remember you couldn't even do me the fucking courtesy of breaking up with me when you actually realised you wanted to. No one is ever special to anyone. I forgot that.
I'm having to remind myself every day not to hate you. I could hate you so much for things over the last few months. Really truly completely utterly hate you. To the point I couldn't see you again, where I'd have to abandon all our mutual friends, where I'd not be able to go near Boston again. I could hate you to the point where the mention of your name would get me as angry as I do when Brandon is mentioned. I don't want to hate you. I really don't want to. So I try to remember not to. But God I could. So much and so easily.