Dear Love,
You see, I’ve always dreamt of you. Even at a young age, with princess role models and George Strait on the stereo, I knew I couldn’t wait to meet you. I always wondered if you’d be my prince charming, or a cowboy crossin’ plains for me.
As I grew older, my idea of you changed. You were no longer my prince charming, and definitely not a cowboy. You became the idea of a high school sweetheart. You became Nicholas Sparks’ movies, Taylor Swift songs, and awkward first kisses after curfew. You were the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes upon, and with the tiniest taste of you, I knew I was hooked.
Then I became an adult. I laid the childish games aside, and searched for who you truly were. Only while searching for you did I realize you weren’t at all who my child self grew up believing in.
So I hope you understand when I say that I don’t think we should be together anymore.
I want you to know that it’s not you, it’s me.
Well, maybe it actually is you.
Maybe it’s because my matured eyes see you for who you truly are, a fraud.
It wasn’t always like this. Well, you weren’t always like this. Maybe I was just too drunk on the idea of who you were supposed to be that I forgot to clear my eyes each morning to make sure I was seeing you clear.
You are so good at what you do, for I am nothing if not a fool. You play your games on repeat, and I senselessly believe this game will be played different from the last.
You waltz into my life with sparkling eyes, words smooth as silk, and intentions that you swear are pure. After a week or two, your eyes begin to dull, your words are quite sexist, and your intentions- we needn’t even go there.
While I have been busy growing into a strong, worthy woman, you have done some changing of your own.
You used to be capable of providing kisses that could break any spell, and now you kiss any girl who’s two sheets to the wind and couldn’t pick your face out in a lineup come morning.
You used to be “beach ball distance” dances to songs we barely knew, and now you practically fornicate with barely-clothed, intoxicated women in a bar.
You stopped wondering about who I was and how I came to be, and began to only care about things like my bra size, and what I’m doing after 11:00pm.
You used to call just to check in, and now I spend hours waiting by a phone for a text message that never comes.
You used to be my favorite story, feeling, word, my everything. But now, just the thought of you turns my stomach.
Perhaps you’re too young and immature to be who I need right now.
Maybe one day you’ll grow out of this phase. You’ll go back to being flowers “just because,” late night texts just to let me know I’m on your mind, and eyes that shine only for me.
But until you mature and grow into who I know you can be, I think it’s best we don’t see each other anymore.
Best of luck,
Your Ex