Young Writers Society

A year and a half that I wish I could forget. 

I was 19 and had no idea what I was doing. 

For two years I'd been your friend, watched you pull yourself out of hell. 

I was the only person who stayed when everyone else left. 

I thought I knew you. 

What. The. Hell. Was. I. Thinking??? 

If I could remember why I liked you maybe that would help. 

Maybe. 

You have no idea what you did wrong. 

You can't take responsibility for what you did. 

I stayed with you until I hated you, out of fear and guilt. 

Jumped from one dark place to another, just to get away from you. 

The relief and joy I felt the night I called and finally said:

"We're done." 

Then the rage came. 

I finally realized everything you did to me.

Once it hit, once it sank in that you r**** me, 

there was no fear. Just pure rage. 

The manipulating, guilt tripping and hitting. 

"It only happened once, I apologized" is all you ever said. 

That's not enough, it was still wrong. 

Someday karma will catch up, you will bleed. 

Every single memory of us I took and burned. 

Every picture. Every gift. 

I wish I could get rid of the loathing I feel when I think of the fact that I ever let you touch me. 

You never, ever truly knew me, threw a fit like a child every time I won a fight, every time I called you out on your absolute bullshit. 

I can't wait for life to hit you. 

It's true, the best revenge is moving on and living one's best life,

but I still want to see you bleed. 

I want to be the reason you bleed. 

So sincerely, with all my heart, 

From the devil I've become,

FUCK YOU.