it's not you, it's me

I think I might hate you. No... no... that doesn't seem right.

Is hate too strong a word? Is it too judgmental, too glass half empty, too... dare I say... emotional? Actually, the more I think about it, the more I think that the intensity is right, but the word choice is wrong.

I loathe you

Yes... much better...

I haven't heard from you. It has been 13 days and 12 nights. You don't call... you don't respond to my messages. I ask your friends about you and they pretend nothing is wrong. I wonder if you even told them about us. I wonder if you are shutting them out as well or if they just knew you had someone else all along. Is that it? Did they know? Did they see me and smile and pretend that I'm your number one? Do they drive away in their trucks laughing, knowing that I'm just a fling for you?

I thought I deserved more. I thought that somewhere in the recesses of your large, albeit dimly lit mind, that you had a special place for me... for us.

Not so much.

I stand here now, beaten, but not broken... wounded, but not weary... disappointed, but not dismantled. I will do that which I must. I will, with a heavy heart and a light wallet, walk proudly into Lowes (Improving Home Improvement) and purchase two new door locks. I will then replace the locks on the house and bid you a not so fond farewell. You have disappointed me for the last time.

Mr. Framing Contractor/ Would-Be Drywall Man, Our time, however rollercoasterish, has been interesting and educational. I will not forget you, the work you did on the lion's share of the house construction, nor will I forget how you tried to play me and made me want to go to your house at 5 in the morning and curse you out in front of your children and neighbors alike (luckily I was dissuaded from such action... it could have gotten ugly)