“The thing is, you probably never cared for me at all.
You asked me why did I still like you. I stared at you for a long while and I couldn’t come up with an answer, because even you were well aware that you didn’t treat me right.
You don’t celebrate my triumphs; not when I got my driving license nor when I pulled myself to second upper. I no longer want to tell you of my troubles, because you made them sound so insignificant, as if my feelings were invalid. You’re not interested in my stories of people who had made an impact on me; only in those that featured you as a lead character, be it a hero or a villain, as long as I make you sound like you had influence over my life. I just feel as if… I’m just part of your personal statistics of women who were intoxicated with the idea of you.
But then you moved on to mock the person I used to be, and confessed that you only texted me when you’re bored back then. It killed the young girl who naively thought that there was at least some redeeming qualities about herself that she had that she bartered for a friendship with you. And I think she was the one who had those feelings for you, so along with her death I am free from the illusion of loving you.
When I despairingly sighed that I am a sucker for you, you were pleased and replied “well, that’s good for me”. If it was someone else I think a true friend would warn me to stay the hell away from such a jerk, but with your vested interests you rather let me self-destruct than to keep me a safe distance away.
I always knew that nothing good will come out of hoping you’ll change for me, but now there’s nothing to keep me from leaving.”
I don’t think I mattered enough for you to question my disappearance, so I held an imaginary conversation with you in an alternative world where I pretended that you cared enough to ask.