Go to Hell

I’m so mad, so fucking mad at you,  I feel that there must be steam coming out of my ears. 

I want to make you understand. When I left you standing there, my eyes dusty, yours like slick panes of glass over which a rain and thunder storm is raging, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You meant everything to me for a long time. I was just determined that this was the end, that it was for the best. Is that such a bad thing?  Why did you have to cry and make me feel horrible? I hate you for that. 

I’m running right now because it’s the only way I can think of to get rid of my energy, my anger, my madness. I’m still thinking about what happened. My headphones are on, I’m listening to U2, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”. 

The world keeps rushing at me, 100 miles an hour, I’m on the path to destruction. How did things get so complicated? 

When we first met everything was so wonderful. You and I kissed in the library. Then we kissed again on that melted snow soaked field, the Mexican blanket underneath us. Then we were a couple and kissed all  the time, on busses, in restaurants, on the street, in bed at night, in  bed in the morning. I made strawberry and banana smoothies for you, you did my laundry for me. 

I met your parents. I brought them flowers and they served me coffee and cookies, they were so nice to me. They said we were a cute couple. How was I to know? Things aren’t always what they seem. I usually have good instinct, the weariness underneath should have been clear to  me. 

We used to run together three times a week. Now I  have to run on another path. That makes me so mad because I liked the path we ran on, I  had found it first. But I don’t want to risk running into you, not even a little. I hope you’ve stopped running, I hope you’ve gotten fat eating pints of ice cream to comfort yourself. 

We had sat on a bench that night, holding hands and talking, like we were someone’s grandparents. We were happy, we were so intimate. I left you to go buy a cup of coffee and that’s when he must have walked by. You guys had been together before. When I walked back he was kissing you, like you were his boyfriend instead of mine.  I shooed him away like he was a naughty  dog, feeling like this was some bad dream.

But it wasn’t a bad dream. You’re not straight, or even bisexual, as you claim.  You’re gay. And you’re not my boyfriend anymore. I hate you. Go to hell. 

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