I told you that I thought the world of you. I lied. I didn’t mean to, but I did. That’s what you needed me to say. So I made myself believe that I did. And I said it, over and over. To convince myself just as much as to convince you. But every fear you ever had of what I might be thinking, every insecurity you wanted me to wipe away, I couldn’t – because I thought them too. I thought you had nothing going for you other than your money. You cheated your way to the top. You have no sense of integrity. You’re conniving. You have money. A pack mule, able to work hard. Good for you.
Weellll, maybe your looks, too. But to be honest, it’s 90% the suit. Business attire. Men in uniform always look better. Too bad you’re not a man, though.
I told you I thought you were smart. I lied. That you were sweet, caring, a good person. All lies. That I trusted you. Well, at the time I did. That I looked up to you – nope, more lies.
Whether I did or didn’t mean what I said is irrelevant. You were so self-absorbed and so insecure that you could have everyone worshiping at your feet and you would still complain that your pedestal wasn’t high enough, that people didn’t show you enough respect or admiration. I showered you with accolades, and still, all I ever heard was how I didn’t love you enough.
I wonder what you’re up to, right now. I don’t miss you, I’m just bored. I hear small businesses are shattering everywhere with this pandemic. I wonder if yours is too. I don’t really care one way or the other, I’m just curious. Because after all, that’s the one thing you actually have going for you. And it’s been so long, that even if I told you all this to your face, it wouldn’t hurt you, because you moved on a long time ago. You never had a heart to be broken. Your twisted mind thought that if you could successfully shatter mine, you could use the pieces to reconstruct yours.
I’m sorry if these words hurt. You’ll never know if I mean them or not. But, as you told me, over and over again, it’s semantics, just words, so it shouldn’t be seen as offensive. If it is, you’re just being too sensitive. You’ll never know how I really felt then, and it doesn’t matter. But at least you know how I really feel now.
I’d like to be the bigger person and be able to say, through a fake smile, I hope you’re happy. But that would be yet another lie. Not because I wish badly on you, but because I know that you’re not. That you can’t be. And that your unhappiness wasn’t and isn’t my fault, like you tried claiming it was. Plus, we both know that my smiles are never fake.