I know you’ve touched someone else. And let someone else touch you. One year and three months together, and only two weeks “not” together, and you’ve already been with someone new.

Do they know about that little mole on your back? Or all those freckles, and the way they line up like stars? Do they know about all those things we talked about in the notes app? Or those words you used to love when I say?

When you were with them, was it as difficult as it was with me? Was it confusing, did you struggle to communicate, did they feel guilty afterward because of how you felt?

Or was I just your stepping stone.

You used me to heal and become comfortable with sex, didn’t you? I was your little experiment after your last boyfriend treated you so bad. You gained some experience, I taught you some tricks, and now you are A-ok, good to go.

Maybe it’s the fact that in this case, it was all transactional, a quick hookup, you were able to detach yourself.

With me through, it was never that easy, was it? Because I wanted it to be more than that. I saw it as sacred. An expression of love between two people. And you never saw it that way. Because the thought of it scared you. To actually be vulnerable with me, at any point in our relationship.

Fuck you. I still love you, and a part of me always will, but fuck you.