“You’ve lied to me about everything, Ruben. Das ist schade. Don’t lower my memory of you by pretending you are sorry. I feel like I ought to say something final, but I can’t think of anything. I can’t care about you anymore, or I really will destroy myself. You win. Congratulations, auf Wiedersehen, adiou.”
I will say something else, here. You had no reason to lie to me about anything, ever. I’ve seen what you are, and I’ve seen what you can do and still I wanted you. For whatever feelings I possessed of love and hope and gratitude and my willingness to keep letting you back again and againandagainagainagain are just tired, babe. I guess I wasn’t as loyal as I thought, or maybe my brains finally convinced my heart that although these are good things to feel, they shouldn’t of been for you.
It’s all been wasted on you.
I will sleep, and I won’t dream of you or of anyone else. I will take comfort in that. Maybe later on I will take comfort in conjuring up nothing but embarrassment for the both of us when you appear in my thoughts.
That will be one helluva good day. That will be a glorious day.