There was a moment in time where I prayed for your demise. I literally hoped you would die.  Do I feel bad for thinking that way? I do now, but at the time I was hurt.  Hurt by actions, words, broken promises, deceit, hurt by so many things.  Nothing you could have said or done would have changed the fact that I wanted you to die.  Every time I drove into Atlanta, and ended up in an area familiar to you, my gun was in my lap. Premeditated? Maybe. I was ready.  I knew if I saw you, there would be no words. There would be no tears. Hell, I didn’t even have any questions to ask. There was no explanation needed for the fact that I was planning to empty the clip and reload and empty it again at first sight of you. Eventually the anxiety stopped, the fear wore off. I wasn’t scared of you, I was scared of what I would do to you because I was angry.

I mourned your loss as if you’d died and I guess, for me, you did.

Not only did I pretend you died, I practically erased you.  Every picture, every small gift, anything that reminded me of you, burned to flames. A shirt you left in my closet. A card you gave me for a belated birthday. A box of incense. A dog collar for the dog I bought you. A dried up rosebud left over from the last dozen roses you bought me that were laced with lies.  Trash. All of it. I even moved just so you wouldn’t know where I live. Because I know you, you would have popped up knocking on my door begging me to take you back one more time.

I made one tiny mistake. I deleted you off of all of my social media except the one place I thought you would forget you were following me on.  I almost think I did it on purpose because I knew you would look for me and I wanted you to see that I was dope without you.  Remember when I told you, “You’ll look for me in every woman you entertain. And when they ask about me, I hope you tell them that you fucked it up.” I don’t have to ask if you realize that you fucked it up because it’s literally been over a year and somehow you manage to click like on almost everything I tweet.

Fuck you, you’re nothing.

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