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A Letter to My Ex

I guess now I have to thank you.

By Emma MayerPublished 5 years ago 2 min read
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For a while, you made me laugh; you made me sing, you made me dance, you made me feel like I was worth everything in this lifetime. For a while, you made me think about the future. For a while, you made me happy. For a while...

Your kisses made me dizzy, but so did your mood swings. You hurt me without meaning to, you lied without thinking. You made me fall for a certain kind of you, a kind that wasn’t actually you. I don’t know you. Your energy was toxic, but I couldn’t see it past the color of your eyes.

I doubt you knew this was coming, but I will let you know first that I am full of surprises now. Now that your iron grip on my throat is gone, your toxic air no longer filling my lungs, I am what some would call “a new woman." You made me this way, and I guess now I have to thank you.

I told myself at first that I hated you. I hated you for betraying me, for making me think that I meant something to you when I obviously did not. I hated that you put your substances on top, that you cared more about the bottle than you cared about me. I hated that you didn’t even think of the repercussions before you tangled me up in your web of deceit. I hated that you made me care about you and feel sorry for you. I hated that you made me forget about my problems to try and fix yours. I hated that you destroyed us. I hated that I wasted my time, my energy, my tears. I hated that I kissed you with my eyes squeezed so tightly shut.

I don’t hate you anymore. Now, I pray for you. I see you every day, this campus is small. I see your smile, I see your life go on as though I wasn’t even there. I’m not sad or bitter about it. I’m sad that I didn’t do anything to change you. You always told me I was your world, but when your world told you to stop drinking, stop smoking, find faith again, you ignored her. That’s what still hurts. That I tried so hard to make a difference in you, and it was all forgotten. And now, I pretend like you don’t exist because I have to. I have to for myself. Your toxic air doesn’t choke me anymore, I can breathe again, and I’m doing good.

All of life is temporary. The earth we live on, the air we breathe, the sun, the moon, the stars. The wildflowers we put in our hair, the roses we give to our mothers, the daisies we throw into graves. You and I were temporary too. We live to feel and breathe and see, but it all disappears in its time.

Someday, you’ll meet someone. You’ll feel immortal, you’ll tell her that she is your world, you’ll make her believe your lies, and maybe this time she’ll stick around. You’ll breathe each other’s air and you won’t realize how polluted you both are, and you’ll live as if you’ve just begun. I pray that maybe she’ll actually be the one to make you better.

I pray for you. Dear God, do you need it.

breakups
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