You said that one day I would hear this song and think of you. That must have been a joke, I think, because I haven't stopped thinking of you in the 76 days we haven't spoken. How could I forget? You're the bastard who stole my favorite song from me. Among other things.
Right now it's almost two in the morning (almost one for you, and I wonder if you're working the overnight shift again, or if you told your manager you can't because you have class tomorrow. Actually, I just realized it's Saturday, so you're probably still awake playing Pokemon - or whatever your current obsession is at the moment. I won't bother to bring up the obvious fact that she is included in your plans.) and for the first time since August 13th (the curse of the 13th strikes again, at least it was a Monday) I've had the courage to listen.
Its not what I expected, this liberation. What did I expect? Maybe I thought I'd cry, at the very least (I know that's what you would expect; you always called me a cry baby). From relief or the same old reminiscent demons, I'm not sure. But tears all the same. They didn't come.
I heard this song (did you know I stopped listening to music once I finally left?) and every word was tainted by you. "One day you're going to hear this song and think of me..."How can I not hear a song and think of you when that's exactly what you tell me? I don't think you predicted the future as much as stacked the odds in your favor. Should anything less be expected of you?
This is the part where I berate and curse your very existence. I'm supposed to get angry (and don't be fooled, I am, in fact, still pissed off and do all of those things frequently) and end this with an empowering "FUCK YOU!" because I am a strong, empowered woman. That's what all the strong empowered women say, at least. As for myself, I'm still on the fence about my own feminine ferocity.
How can I be empowered when I still remember that in a month and three days we would have been together for a year? Or that your favorite letter was "x" (same as mine), and that your most treasured possession is a Mickey Mouse watch you got when you were seven (you wanted to give it to me until she became your new passion).
This isn't a love letter.
I have reclaimed my song, but I know this isn't a goodbye letter, either. I think this is just an expression of the infinite amount of ways you have screwed me over letter. And doesn't that seem more appropriate?