I always promised to have a better perspective on breakups; to be more mature about it; to stay friends; to be decent. But here I am, finding it hard to even write this letter because the Tablet I’m using was given to me by you. I want to slam it across the wall and watch it shatter into tiny pieces; maybe then people would see a physical representation of how my heart is right now. But I promised to be mature and that’s what I’m going to be.
But before I become mature, can I just say how very angry I am. I am throughly angry at myself and at you. I often quote the stupid saying that goes: things happen for a reason. But right now, I don’t care what reason it was that brought us together, I’m just really mad.
I’m angry at you for all the lies you told me. It feels like I have only hallucinated the past one year of our relationship; when you told me sweet nothings and pleasured my ears with extravagant promises.
And I’m angry at myself for believing; never doubting always believing; never judging always loving; never searching always settling. I just settled for your words and scored them as perfect and true. It’s always easy to catch a liar – except you’re not looking.
Anyway, I said I was going to be mature about the whole thing so forget the previous paragraphs.
I want to thank you Jude, for teaching me what it is to love a person without inhibitions.
I want to thank you Jude, for showing me how to trust someone and every of their judgement.
I want to thank you Jude, for teaching me to smile for people and for myself.
I want to thank you Jude, for buying me fancy things I’d never buy for myself.
I want to thank you Jude, for letting me buy you fancy things I’d never buy for anyone else.
I want to thank you Jude, for correcting me without shouting at me (yes; this is a thing).
I want to thank you Jude, for teaching me to spell. God knows you tried for my English.
And most of all, I want to thank you Jude for leaving me early. Thanks thanks and thanks again for not dragging this on and then later on, blaming all the sadness and misfortune of your miserable life on m-
Sorry… I’m going down that immature road again.