You suck because it doesn’t matter how many years I have known you, you will never call me when your sober.
I know that it was hard to be my friend all those years. Especially those years that you used me as your fuck buddy, while you were dating the supposed “love of your life.” I know it was hard after that whole thing, when we tried to date, but ended up with you fucking a lot of other “beautiful women” at the same time. It sucked after that when we were just friends, one that you liked to blow off all the time. It sucked when you realized that you loved me, but still wanted to date other people. It sucked for you a lot, when i started dating someone else, and fell in love.
I know it sucked for you. I was there, remember? I saw the whole thing. I know who you are, and i know what I am. And all I ever wanted was love, and for the first time in years, I didn’t want it from you anymore. But I thought, “fuck, why not? Why not be friends?”
But I forgot the main component of our relationship revolved around the use of the phone at 2am, when you’re drunk as fuck, and I am sleeping, or even on occasion, the other way around. And maybe some things can never change.
So, when I am laying next to the man I choose to be with, while watching a late night “Family Guy,” and eating peanut butter off a spoon, don’t text me that you miss me. No. Please don’t. If you missed me now, you would call me at 6pm after you finished work, and saw something driving home that reminded you of me. It would not happen when you’re drunk, because God knows that the next part of your drunk texting would be in response to my telling you that drunk texts are now inappropriate.
You might reply and say that I am bad in bed. Or, you might even go into detail saying that you are not into me sexually. Not because you are not a sexual person, but because you will never find me sexy, because I am horrible in bed.
And so I will tell you to delete my number. Because as much as I know that you sending me something like that is your insecure, attention retardation disorder, and you only wanted a rise out of me–because it would mean that I still cared about you and your fleshing eating diseases. But, sadly (really, sadly), I don’t. And it is not my fault. IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT. I stopped caring. And that was only by some gracious act of the energies of dead people that decided I needed some release from you. And if you were amazing, why would I need to stop caring? And if you weren’t such a sad man, do you think I would still call you even this far into the story? No. I FELT BAD FOR YOU. But, I will not feel sorry for someone who disrespects me and my boyfriend.
So go ahead, delete me from facebook too. show me how much I upset you, and how crazy I am, because I no longer appreciate you taking my much-too-high-self-esteem, and crushing it on the cheap vinyl floor of your moms house, (the one you lived in until you were 27).
Honestly, you suck. You suck a lot. You suck so much, you lost me as a friend. And you lost me because you never called me when you were sober.
