A Break Up Letter To A Man Mistakenly Sent To Wife

I fell for you on purpose, unintentionally in the beginning. There was something about your emotional unavailability that appealed the musing pseudo writer in me. Part of me saying that I needed safekeeping in the arms of a man …but already warm from another woman’s affection. Suddenly, this enclave of mine, a place that many have quest to conquer, with you, I just let you in so easy. So easy that I surrendered my castle to you, just to let you burn down the stonewalls to ashes.

I let you did that because I am unafraid of breaking. Unafraid of drowning in self-pity after I found photographs of your woman in your soul while I try to look for fingerprints of my existence in your life. Every time you sighs, I see little thoughts of love with calligraphy of her name over your head. I even hear your titillation everytime you spoke to her on the phone. I can clearly feel the indifference when you lie on my chest while thinking of her. I know when your mind evaporates thoughts of me. You definitely find refuge in the arms of memories you shared with her.

But because your girl was not here for you half the time, I was left dealing with your emotional bullshit. I was left quenching your thirst. You stapled me to the cross of your woman’s flaws. I work and fix things that I didn’t even break. I lose my mind for another woman’s psychosis.

I wish I never wasted time on perfecting my pasta dishes trusting to hear your appreciation. All those time I spent cooking and contemplating to our daily conversations while being fucked were better spent reading books on sociology instead. I regret that I kept on spying on your Facebook profile with the hope that you have a relationship status tag request for me but I also kept on seeing post about her more.

But I’m also a lady who knows not to intrude on a happy home. I sure don’t want that karma comes when I’m 36, dateless and single and can’t even find the right sized batteries to operate that inventive little piece of technology to satisfy myself.

I am sick and tired of it because you were not even worth all the inspiration these heart wounds you left in my journal. So with all those shit you put me through, do not try making small talk with me. Do not ask how my days are. Do not call me, text me or email me. Do not find any reasons to speak to me. Do not look back at me. Do not talk shit about me. I will now start a new page to write my secrets on, looking forward to you being a faded distant memory.

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