I don't wonder if you loved me. I know that you did. What I wonder is how you can still love me and yet be so blind to the pain you have caused, and continue to cause, me.
We were gonna go to Texas to confront your old demon. I looked up doctors to heal your scar. I found one, but you seemed reluctant. I would have paid to take the pain away. I painted a picture about it. Where your power comes from. Your new girlfriend said it was the source; I said "yeah, I told you."
You didn't listen to me. Not sure if you ever did. Pretty sure you just did what you wanted to do; didn't matter who it would hurt. Yet you took the stance of martyr. Said you weren't selfish. Baby, everyone's selfish. How could you be so out of touch?
You wrote me a letter and outlined me as nothing. You used subtle terms to assert blame. You are a master at the passive-aggressive guilt game. You are elite without instruction; you are a natural; so natural even you don't notice. I've had the past year to deconstruct you. I am still angry. I may always be angry. You still haven't apologized. Will you ever find your own sincerity?

I may have said I would contact you when I was ready. I also said I didn't want to hear from you until you had done to you what you had done to me. Until you understood the pain. Until you knew heart break.
I have never been affected by someone the way you affected me. I have never hurt like that. I hope I never do again.
My lover rubbed the ribs beneath my ache until they were bruised. I almost always think of you when my breastbone hurts. Now I press the hurt and feel better. He missed the spot I needed touched. But that physical pain emphasizes the emptiness just above it. I feel better. I feel better because someone else's memory is joined to that spot now.
I thought that when I finally heard from you, it would be with some sense of humbleness from you. But no; you are still cocky, and self-centered, and unaware of your own actions. You still find tiny ways to hurt me. How do you do it, after all this time? How can you still throw in those little words that prick me? Furthermore, why? You left me, you unrepentant asshole. You left me. And yes, it still hurts.
I told myself I wouldn't initiate contact. I didn't. I am amazed that I kept that promise to myself. Usually I fold. Maybe it was the way you ignored me for so long after you killed me. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe I just finally accepted that there is nothing I can ever say that will get through to you. There isn't. There has never been. You are a lost case. You are hopeless.
And in my anger I find you worthless, too. Not just in my life, but in the grand scheme of the world. You add nothing. You are useless.

I say that and, though there is some truth to it, I know it's just the pain speaking. I know it isn't really true.
But you hurt me.

The simple truth.

You hurt me.

And as long as I'm alive, you will continue to.