Dear You,

My oh my, look at how far we’ve come. Remember the days where we used to be in college, no going to class and finding any reason to lay up in bed, lay up with each other? Occasional trips to the dining hall to grab nourishment and make use of those meal plans, only to wind up back in bed, back with each other. My, how those days seemed to go on and on and on, a big blur until it all stopped.

When I met you, I realized love was real. That love was not just some abstract, intangible thing that I’ve read so many books and poems about. You were love to me, that abstract suddenly embodied in a physical specimen that I could only recall as perfect. Perfect and mine. Yea, love was real man. You made me see that.

And just as you opened my eyes, I realized that they were too open. Love made me vulnerable and you took advantage and where was I to go and who was I to find comfort in when the person I loved, who loved me, would hurt me? When you lied, when you cheated, when you forsake every promise that you had made to be you. You became someone else. You were not you. And it was too late for to me see, that I was no longer me. Love had done me wrong. You had done me wrong.

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