I couldn’t understand your urgency that night. Wasn’t it past your bedtime?
“Is it true? You’re seeing someone else now?” you asked.
I was so confused. But, “Yes,” I replied.
“Do you love him?”
“Of course not,” I laughed. “I just met this guy.”
You had never called me before that night. You had never shown interest in anything other than back-alley encounters at midnight. Why did you care if someone wanted more of me—more than you ever did? Why did it matter to you now?
I was confused because I felt nothing for you then, and I’d thought it was mutual. Little did I know you felt everything. Or was it simply knowing you’d lost the game that triggered your possessiveness? Where was this caring, confident man when I wanted to be claimed?
Too late, I told myself. You had your chance.
That was then.
I’m no longer confused.
I’m writing to let you know that, in a twist of fate, I didn’t understand what I had done to you until someone did the same to me. The worst part? I have no right to protest. I can do nothing but stay still and watch from afar as he breaks my heart—the only proximity I’m allowed.
You, at least, got your way. That night you called, you found some measure of closure, lucky guy. You heard the bitter news from my own lips, not through some cruel twist or whispered rumor. Yes, your weekends would be drier, but your pockets would be fuller, and your smile—it is now wider.
I started writing LETTERS TO EX-LOVERS and I wanted to share an excerpt with my readers. I still don’t know in what format/ways or platform I’ll publish the finished product, but you can always come back here for updates.