I meant to write…but I didn’t. I couldn’t, not really. I wanted to, in a way, but didn’t also. Really, I just wanted to forget. I should have written, should have…but I let myself forget. If I had written, I would have told the truth. I never wanted to see you again.
But now we’re here.
The truth is, I hate you. I know I shouldn’t. I should forgive and love everybody, but I can’t. I’ll probably go to hell for it, but here we are.
What? You don’t have anything to say? Why act so shocked? I have avoided you these seventeen years. Did you really think I had anything good to say to you? You made my life hell for a year, and no matter how I try to stamp it out, the pain of that fire always smolders; at the slightest breath it rekindles.
I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want to hear from you or see you. I don’t want to ever think about you again. Just leave me the hell alone and let me get on with my life.
Tale Told 