Oh, the sweet taste of satisfaction

Ya know, you make me so angry. Here's a list of why:

1) You post these entries on Tumblr expressing how you hate Westfield because it brings memories of your old life.

2) You go on to detailing said memories, which are clearly specified as times with me.

3) You don't even mention my name.

4) You say "people" you love, but you explicitly said you didn't love me.

Ya know, I'm actually happy you hurt when you recall the parking lots and the drives we took. Am I a bad person for thinking this? It shows that I actually had some impact on you. Too bad you didn't realize it when you actually had me.

Ya know, you're not really "over me." If you were, you wouldn't hate your home. You wouldn't feel "bittersweet." You wouldn't feel anything.

Ya know, I've realized what love is. It never included you. Love doesn't include fighting, and tears, and insults, and yelling, and "Fuck you"s. Love is kisses and hugs and sweet nothings whispered into each other's ear. Now, we had some of that, but not anymore than what love doesn't include.

Ya know, I'm so happy we're done with. I'm happy to know that you feel like I'm the reason you hate Westfield. I'm glad I'm the reason you wish you could just stay away from here all together.

Fuck you, too.




P.S. To all my friends (the real ones): Thanks for being there for me. For keeping me sane. For making me laugh. For giving me a shoulder to cry on. I hope that I have treated you well enough to deserve your unfailing support and loyalty. Love you all.