i’ve hated you as long as i’ve loved you

it’s true. i look at the dick pic you sent me last week and feel it deep in my stomach. not your dick. we both know it’s not that big. no, i feel the hatred mixed with love. they’re not mutually exclusive feelings, they happen at the same time. they are compatible emotions and i feel them for you every single day.

i think about what i want to write for my master’s thesis and it dawns on me to get an entire book out of my system for you, to you, from me. but, i hesitate. i’ve made a vow to decenter you from my life. spending two years, two-hundred-thousand dollars and an entire graduate program on a book for you seems like the opposite of decentering. then again, would it be the ultimate purge? my final act in letting go? would it be so incredibly passionate, so romantic? ugly and desperate but in that “she’s kinda crazy” way. would it be the revenge i seek – successfully publishing a book about our bad love, our beautiful hatred. is that how i win? i’ve wanted to win for so long. i hate giving up. i’d rather die. 

a professor at the accepted students event for an ivy league program i got into said the best books are written for someone. i think that’s true. i’ll write you the goddamned book, okay. OKAY. shit. i get pissed. it’ll be a prose so deeply saturated with love and hate the reader will want to vomit. and still it won’t be enough for you. a pulitzer wouldn’t cut it. i can accept that. i don’t care. *wink*.

i prayed for grace at st. patrick’s cathedral earlier this week. i asked god to release you from my heart, to grant me the guidance and strength required to move on. i prayed for the ability to forgive. 

we had sex for hours last week. it was incredible sex, we both agreed. we both came hard. i squirted all over the carpet of your airbnb. you called me your angel. you tenderly kissed my cheek with your dick stationed inside of me, unthrusting. soaking . “you’re so pretty, you’re so pretty, you’re so fucking pretty,” you said over and over again. 

i love you for that.

it’s 3:30 in the morning now. my “witching hour.” there’s a full, blood moon in virgo moving across the sky. it’s an eclipse. i know about it because i searched “what is happening astrologically this month” last week, and found out. the results said events will occur with particular potency that has far-reaching effects. the information was daunting because i knew it to be true. i felt that creeping feeling of moving around a corner where you know something is lying in wait.

you’re eight miles away. your girlfriend you didn’t tell me about is visiting from duluth. she’s in your bed right now. i bet you had sex all night. i bet it was wet.

i hate you for that.

i’d never describe myself as a jealous woman.