Love letter to the boys who dumped me
Let's cut straight to the chase here, yeah?
Truth is, I genuinely liked you. I liked your wit, your style, your music. I really liked having sex with you. You have good taste in film. I was disappointed that you disappeared. Don't worry, I'm not heartbroken, or anything. But maybe a little hurt.
Actually, dumped is a generous term, don't you think? Y'all disappeared. Little boys suffocated by their machismo, under their friend's thumb, always on the run.
Boys, do the next girl a favor and tell it to her straight. Was the sex boring? Was it too freaky? Did she fuck zone you too hard? Is she clingy? Is she painfully awkward to be around? Are YOU painfully awkward to be around? Give her what she needs to stop imagining you're some sort of prince, to stop making up horror stories in her head.
I also wanted to say thank you. In your absence, I checked my ego, stopped feeling sorry for myself, and started getting my shit together, something I've been putting off since getting kicked out of school for having sex. I looked in the mirror and saw a sad, spineless woman who didn't trust anyone. I thought, good god, I wouldn't want to fuck me either. I cried for no longer than six minutes.
And then I got up, cleaned my room, drank some water, and bought some new clothes. I did some cardio and took my vitamins. I set up a routine. I even stopped smoking. And with no boys to distract me, I fell back into practice (a true indicator of shit-together-ness) and reconnected to the creative, deliberate life I'm trying to live. So thank you for the loneliness, the freedom. It's all a sort of sacred sadness that I needed more than anything right now.
None of you ever made me orgasm, anyway.
Yours till the lip sticks,