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Shame


My shame stems from failure.

My ego said everything was right. It said we couldn’t fail. It said he loved us. It said he was the real deal. It said I wouldn’t be happier with anyone else. It said a lot of things. Between that and my selfish desire to share my feelings, I went for the gold.

I broke my ankle in the opening act, continued to perform miserably, and was ultimately rejected. For what, I no longer care. Facts are facts: he never responded.

To be ghosted is to be rejected.

Maybe I deserved it. I probably deserved it. Maybe I didn’t. But one thing I know is if I didn’t try, I would have died. It was blocking me from growing. It was hindering me. Despite feeling on top of the world in love, it was not serving me any longer.

Nick, I do not owe you any more words. I wrote you one million words and you rejected me. Leave me be. I have important matters to attend to that have nothing to do with you.

I am sick of your decade-long (and then some) game with my heart. I simply no longer wish to associate with you. Not as a friend. Not as a colleague. Not as a lover.

I do not need you and your low vibration.

Obviously you aren’t putting the girl back together. I am.

I do not need to explain that to you. I am eternal and I will never let her die. You, on the other hand, killed her to begin with. Allow me to tell you the truth you’d rather not hear: You told her you were engaged and she gave up the will to live. You killed her that day. And all she said was, ‘Oh. Okay. … I mean, congratulations!’

Congratulations, stone man. This is your conclusion: you never get the girl. She’s mine. ❤ ❤ ❤


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