I stumbled across a broken glass on 59th street where we once strolled during summer’s peak. It reminded me of you. Maybe it was the beauty of what it was once—complete and heart filled, but it was too shattered for me to see. I remember this place—the first time you said you loved me, and the last time you meant it.
It felt like 16. Maybe not for you, but me, I found myself getting goosebumps every time you called me by my nickname, when you would look at me and your eyes would glisten by my beauty, holding my hand on my flirt rollercoaster ride because you knew I hated heights, lifting my chin up when I would cry over the messes I made, kissing me on my cheek when I accomplished something that was important to me, hugging me to sleep because I didn’t want you to leave when I was awake, and loving me unconditionally when I didn’t love myself.
Do you remember the time we danced to my favorite Drake song, and you laughed? You thought I was eye candy for the night. You had two left feet, and one warm hand—you were used to doing everything wrong. Do you remember the time you slapped with me a stack of my other letters to my ex- lovers? You were jealous they were more beautiful than yours. They didn’t have blooded heart stains on them, no tear marks on the seal of the envelope, and I watched you read them bit by bit, increasing your anger towards me. I was afraid that you would slap me with your heart instead.
And the night I left you, I cried my eyes out because I knew that your pain was more than mine, but baby I was tired. I was tired of you only loving me when the conditions were right, loving me when I gave you what you wanted, loving me for better and never for worse, and loving me when no one else loved you. I know what you’re looking for, you’re looking for an apology like you usually do, but I’ve ran out of sorry receipts. You’ve filled up my checkbook. I don’t want to buy another one just so you can deposit it into your heart and give it for the next person’s worth. She doesn’t deserve that; you don’t deserve that.
Two weeks later, you stopped by my apartment to pick your box of things, expecting an apology like you usually do, but that time I didn’t give it to you. You were appalled, you assumed I would come back and beg for you again, but I didn’t, and we sat in the mirror, staring at one another for 15 minutes. Do you remember when I looked at you and said, “I want my old self back?” You didn’t say anything, you just placed your hand on mine, and cried into my lap. I hugged you with tear filled eyes, and kissed your head because I knew it would be the last time.
Ex-lover, our relationship is over. I thought writing this letter would do me harm, but loving you was all the harm I needed. I have released you now. You are no longer in my spirit, and it makes me feel beautiful when I look in the mirror and feel happy. Ex lover, you were the old me I never want to see again.
Your Old Self (Ex-lover)