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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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