*sidenote: I wrote this weeks ago.*
Dear X,
Do you remember that song called She is Love that came out last year? The one everyone fawned over and all the girls wished was written for them? The chorus goes something like, “They call her love, love, love, love, love. She is love, and she is all I need.”
Well, I just thought you should know that song doesn’t remind me of you at all.
I would ask you how you’ve been doing the past few months since we last saw each other, but I really don’t have any inclination to care. I’ve tried several times to initiate a reunion, perhaps over a cup of coffee like the natives here seem to do, but you obviously haven’t quite caught up with the socially accepted way of life in this place yet. That’s okay, I’m sure someone will love you enough to wait for you to break out of your medieval “keep your friends close so you can stab them in the back and create new enemies to play with” ways…. I’m sorry to bother you this way, you know, I’m sure keeping in contact with your “best friend” can be such a complete drag sometimes, but as you won’t return calls, texts or emails, I guess this old-fashioned thing called snail-mail will have to do. I just thought you should know I think you can be a real bitch sometimes. You and your ridiculous, teenager-wannabe, stuck-in-the-glory-days-of-high-school-when-people-actually-cared-about-what-she-thought mother can go rot in that place where drama leeches like yourselves normally frequent. What’s it called? Oh yeah, the past. You can only relive something so many times before you start to stick to it and eventually it sticks to you and then you become stuck in a time and a place which doesn’t exist anymore. Aren’t you lucky? See, while you’re reveling in the days when you actually had a minute shred of importance, the rest of us have gone on with life and responsibility and are finding out the world does actually get better and better the more you let go of the past. Unfortunately, for people like you, you never get to partake of that revelation. You’re too busy wasting away in coulda, woulda, shouldas. Awwwwwwwh. Tough luck, sweetums.
Well, I just thought you should know that song doesn’t remind me of you at all.
I would ask you how you’ve been doing the past few months since we last saw each other, but I really don’t have any inclination to care. I’ve tried several times to initiate a reunion, perhaps over a cup of coffee like the natives here seem to do, but you obviously haven’t quite caught up with the socially accepted way of life in this place yet. That’s okay, I’m sure someone will love you enough to wait for you to break out of your medieval “keep your friends close so you can stab them in the back and create new enemies to play with” ways…. I’m sorry to bother you this way, you know, I’m sure keeping in contact with your “best friend” can be such a complete drag sometimes, but as you won’t return calls, texts or emails, I guess this old-fashioned thing called snail-mail will have to do. I just thought you should know I think you can be a real bitch sometimes. You and your ridiculous, teenager-wannabe, stuck-in-the-glory-days-of-high-school-when-people-actually-cared-about-what-she-thought mother can go rot in that place where drama leeches like yourselves normally frequent. What’s it called? Oh yeah, the past. You can only relive something so many times before you start to stick to it and eventually it sticks to you and then you become stuck in a time and a place which doesn’t exist anymore. Aren’t you lucky? See, while you’re reveling in the days when you actually had a minute shred of importance, the rest of us have gone on with life and responsibility and are finding out the world does actually get better and better the more you let go of the past. Unfortunately, for people like you, you never get to partake of that revelation. You’re too busy wasting away in coulda, woulda, shouldas. Awwwwwwwh. Tough luck, sweetums.
So now that we’ve established you’re a real, bona fide loser, what else can I do to completely rip apart your character? Let’s look at the way you treat people. Here’s a thought: you DON’T. Treating people, by usage of the word “treat”, implies that you are bestowing kind actions, words and thoughts upon them out of the genuine goodness of your own dear heart. Obviously, you’ve never done that. Therefore, not only do you bestow nothing but spite, contempt and ill-fitted jealousy on those whom you call close friends, but you don’t even treat people right. You don’t even treat them at all. Wow! You’re a horrible person! Congratulations. I think Howard Stern is jealous of your evil capabilities.
Also, I know you like to think the world and all of its complexities and intricacies have the time to revolve entirely around you, but let’s get real, dearest. You’re at the bottom of the barrel, love! Nobody outside of your social circle even knows your name, and they probably never will. Sociology, anthropology, psychology, cosmetology… No matter what you try and decide to do with your life, you’ll probably quit because it’s “not a good fit for you” and that in and of itself is why people will never remember you. People don’t remember or cherish quitters, and somewhere deep down you know that which is why you cling to the only thing you’ve managed to finish in your life, and that’s high school.
Ouch.
Well we’ve come full circle now, and I guess this is the part that you’ve always been waiting for. You’re just too eager to say goodbye to people that make you feel threatened, because you know they actually have something in them worthy of knocking you out of orbit, and you can’t handle the thought of someone else dappling in your so well-deserved attention. Ccch. Sorry, babe. This is me knocking you out of your whole damn atmosphere. Take that, ‘star girl’. You always were too infatuated with space. You may follow NASA on Twitter, but that doesn’t mean Tom Fletcher will ever care about you. You’d probably make him barf.
Sincerely,
Me.
Ouch.
Well we’ve come full circle now, and I guess this is the part that you’ve always been waiting for. You’re just too eager to say goodbye to people that make you feel threatened, because you know they actually have something in them worthy of knocking you out of orbit, and you can’t handle the thought of someone else dappling in your so well-deserved attention. Ccch. Sorry, babe. This is me knocking you out of your whole damn atmosphere. Take that, ‘star girl’. You always were too infatuated with space. You may follow NASA on Twitter, but that doesn’t mean Tom Fletcher will ever care about you. You’d probably make him barf.
Sincerely,
Me.
P.S.
The last time I saw a picture of your boyfriend I thought he was a woman. Way to go, you picked a real winner. It’s not often that men can pull off being mistaken for lesbians.
Cheers!
The last time I saw a picture of your boyfriend I thought he was a woman. Way to go, you picked a real winner. It’s not often that men can pull off being mistaken for lesbians.
Cheers!
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