love letters, subverted.
written: 6:57 p.m. on Friday, Jun. 25, 2004

Notes to Ex-Boyfriends

Number One: You are hot. That's about it. Thanks for ruining my innocence. I appreciate it. I don't really give a shit what you're doing now. I haven't had any contact with you ever since that day in December two years ago, and I'm sincerely letting you know right now that I do not give a shit at all. I'm sorry I wasted all that time on you. I'm sorry too I wrote all that nonsensical non-poetry about and for you, only to have you not comprehending a single fucking word. It has been fun while it lasted. It should have ended much earlier, and it would have, if only I weren't sheltered to the extent that I was.

So yes, I guess I blame myself. You are hereby cleared of all wrong-doings, although if somebody had caught us earlier, you would be in jail right now.

(And by the way, I never orgasmed, not even once.)

Number Two: I'm sorry you're my classmate. I don't know why I have to see an ex every fucking weekday of a fucking school term. It is such a pain in the ass, if you want my honest opinion. And if you want my honest opinion, I would rather do Number One all over again than to go out with you. At least he provided me with some semblance to 'rebellion'. That you could never do.

You are a boring old git, with such a low level of intellect that it really astounds me now, how I put up with you. All you had going on for you was the Chinese poetry bit, and even that does not mean shit to me now. Yes, I kept all of them, but the truth is, it's because I've been too lazy to clear my room. And you are so goddamn immature and childish that it really, really amazes me how I conned myself into thinking that you were what I wanted.

I attribute my two-month fling with you (oh my god gag me) to an unfortunate bout of temporary insanity. Nothing more.

And no, I don't really care that we're not talking. I think the only time I would care is when hell freezes over.

***

Note to A: Okay, seriously, this has got to stop. You are an insignificant worm. Yes, you are. You are nothing. You are nobody. You are not even that elusive boy with the hair in his eyes and the aura of mystery about him, because you are not even a fucking boy, not by definition. You are too old, too pompous, too smart (maybe), too mature, and I admit, way out of my league.

This has really got to stop. I do not believe for one second that anything could come out of my silly infatuation with you, and likewise, I do not think for even a split second that you even have an opinion of me.

And you know what? It hardly bothers me. Nothing about you could ever bother me again. The only thing about you that bothers me is the extraordinarily idiotic fact that I have a crush on you. That is all there is to it.

Why is it that I have a crush on an insignificant worm is something that is yet to be understood. I would devote my entire life to researching the cause, the reason, the why the who, what, the where, the how, everything that makes me tick, everything that makes me like you, and I still think the reason would not be understood. Ever.

And by the way, the paragraph above was not about you.

***

I wrote all of that on a whim.

Just in case one is curious: I have not technically had sex. That is all I'm gonna say about that orgasm thing.

before sunrise // before sunset


Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010