Peachy Keen

I did it, monster.
I went back to the same place where I fucking met you and I just sat there and waited and I don’t know what I was waiting for but then
there he was
a shadow of the original showed up.
He’s just like you, in almost every outwardly way that matters and made me think you were special in the first place
he’s willing he’s young he’s got the light skin tone and skinny knees and is an artist just like you are, and he’s dangerously fragile on the outside
and empty as the darkest pit in the furthest hole nearest the strongest volcano like yourself
and he has all of these women everywhere he goes, slobbering all over themselves mad and in tears, because he simply does not love them.
He acknowledged that last fact and like you is quite proud to mock them.
Weirdly, he came right to the spot where you came the first time that I met you and I pulled out all my stops to keep him stuck there, like any black widow worth it’s salt would.
I did all the sad and manipulative magic tricks for him and I said all the things that you would have wanted to hear
and the entire time the only thing I was thinking about was you.
I could hear you in my mind saying how disgusting and pathetic your doppelganger is and yet I was wishing that he was you or else I wouldn’t be writing about the experience now…
and I know that he will do if I wanted him to
he will do nicely and end up useless trash that I toss out the window on an abandoned freeway down the road to finding a worthy version of myself to be and if I don’t fall into emotional turmoil during the process he’ll be happier in the situation than you ever were because I don’t give a damn about how he feels
and that’s what he really wants
just like you said you did if we’re both being honest.
Looking at him makes me hate myself a little and I’m not sure why I am struggling to turn away from what hurts me.
And I want to apologize to you.
I wish I had told you what I really felt instead of playing the games we played all those years ago
although it wouldn’t have mattered, I like to think that what we had was meaningful and deep and powerful and real even though you wouldn’t ever call that love
sadly I shouldn’t have either and now there’s a good chance that this one might do what you wouldn’t, baby, and I don’t think that that would make me any happier.
I think I’m at the precipice, for real this time, of letting go- even if I could please him physically in the way he fantasizes it wouldn’t make you love me or him or anyone…
I wonder how far I’ll take it
before I get depressed again, or maybe I will just tell him today what I am really looking for from a partner and let him bow out gracefully as possible
I don’t know
I should probably stop which is the same kind of thing I said when I met you, and yet I never did fully, here I am writing and there you are, and I know you are there, reading about it and getting all sorts of exquisite joy out of my suffering, or you wouldn’t be called monster otherwise, right?
We’ll see what happens but I just find it hilarious that I am the shadow magnet for boys who look just like you.
I wanna be mad about it but I can’t.
I hope you don’t choke on a protein smoothie and die. I hope you lose all your hair soon and one of your incisors falls out at Thanksgiving dinner, and that you get fat again and have to move in with your mom. Then you would see, when you reached out to me, none of that changed how I felt.
I don’t want to miss you, you make me miserable and apparently there are oodles of replicas to play with in the meantime.
There always has been and always will be.
I need to fucking grow up.