Dear Em

five

Dear Ember,

I think it's been three dreadful weeks since our breakup. I think you've moved on, found a prettier girl to suit your taste. She's probably a blonde, not a brunette. I'm sure she has blue eyes, as opposed to green ones. And she probably has really nice cheekbones. And boobs. When I think of how you've probably moved on, I don't get sad, I get angry.

I get angry thinking about the way you kiss her and touch her and love her and hold her the way you used to kiss me and touch me and love me and hold me. I get angry, because you probably tell her that her eyes are brighter than the stars, and that when you look at her the rest of the world fades away. You've probably already made her succumb to your smile, her knees going weak every time. Mostly, I'm angry because she's going to get her heart broken just. like. me.

You've made me such an angry person, Ember. You've replaced my joy with hatred that runs through my veins like poison and every day I die inside because every day the poison gets closer and closer to my racing heart. My racing heart that beats only for you, still. Still, i am trapped in your eyes, your smile, your soul. Your soul is foul, Ember. Ember, Ember, Ember. Ember I hate you.

I wish I hated you.

You know, every day I get closer and closer to hating you completely, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid that my hatred for you will only fuel the hatred in my veins running toward my heart, and will consume me. I want to be able to love again, to be loved. I want to care, and I want to smile again. I don't want to be consumed by hatred Ember. The only thing I want more than that, not to be consumed by hatred, is to no longer be consumed by you.

Love,
Nyssa