Dear Meh,
I see the new girl on your profile picture... I never made it that far so she must be real special. Is it dumb that sometimes I hurt on the inside when I think about it, see it, and sometimes I smile and say I'm happy for you. Your status says 'I never expected to fall so hard', well neither did I. Its the little things like this that burn; its soap in my eye, a flame caressing my skin, leaving singed hairs in its wake. Your status, your profile picture, the fact that you're always online but can't make time to reply to my text from two days ago. I shouldn't blame you for not wanting me though... I lied to you, for fucks sakes, said I wanted you when I didn't really. Now that I finally genuinely want to after everything we've given - I've - given, you've found someone who's not me. A new flavour, a curvier, less used, more interesting girl. Fuck!
I had to take a break from writing this to calm down. I miss you despite my better judgment, and I wish I never agreed to go on that dumb fucking date with you because three months later, I feel like trash for it. I need to rephrase that... I wish I never hooked up with you after you bought me chicken from my favourite place. I regret letting you be all my firsts on some days, like today - I could have sold my virginity on eBay, given my first kiss to someone I was actually in love with, anything that would enable me to still be able to feel good about myself for.
Some other days I'm glad it was you because it could have been worse, plus you're like a distant star, one I could forget the location of if I tried hard enough. A flame I could put out with the sole of my shoe. Easier fucking said than done.
Anyways, today I wish I never slept with you because I feel like I was a weak little bitch. You fed me and my legs opened. It obviously wasn't like that - you're not that shallow, I know. Its how I feel though, can't blame me for thinking that way, you did whisper "you're a good little slut" in my ear (or something along those lines) while you fucked me. Or maybe I imagined that... Regardless, because of this, I want to run away to find a place no one would find me and scream out 'I am not a slut!'. I know a place seldom visited in the bush, there's a small waterfall - I'd scream and scream my throat raw until I believed it. It'd be perfect because the thundering of the water hitting against the hard rocks would drown me out while the foliage consumed me and protected me... Just like you did. I want to laugh at myself because I'm imagining the poem you'd write about such a place, fucking dumb ass. I mean myself, not you. See? I claim to want more than anything to shut you out but here I am. Still letting you in, telling you about my secluded place by a waterfall along the Solwezi river.
I am not a slut. Kinky bedroom talk or not, self delusion or not I am not a slut. Your slut. I'm just a girl who let a casanova get too close.
I hope she makes you happy, I hope her pussy isn't hairy like mine was, and I fucking hope she wipes her face on the red towel we used as a cum rag.
Sincerely, Tuya.