Fuck You.
Fuck you for being such a coward that you cannot even tell her why you’ve left. How could you lie to her for so long? How could you talk to her as though she were your princess, sharing your dreams and your thoughts and your wishes with her? How could you try to convince her there are good men in this world; good men with real dreams, real thoughts, and real emotions that include her? How could you offer all these things and then take them back in a chicken-shit-instant with no explanation? Fuck you for making plans of train trips and American travel. Fuck you for not stopping with her, but dragging her mother and her sister in too.
I hope you are dead. Not because I wish your life to be over, but because I would rather know that you died loving her than to know that there is even a single being on the face of this planet like you that dare call himself a man; someone who shows so little respect, caring, and consideration that he wouldn’t even bother to say goodbye after letting such a wonderful creature put so much faith and love and trust and respect into him and what they had together.
I tried to believe her when she told me how incredible you were. In fact, I actually did. Through her, I fell for you as well.
I swear to all those things that are greater than myself that, should I ever come across you without a bright white flag in your hand and a damn good excuse that you can spit out of your cowardly mouth in the ten seconds that I might give you, I will beat you so bloody that you, too, will wish you were dead.
It is one thing to hurt me. It is another thing to hurt a kind, caring, loving, beautiful woman who gave you every ounce of herself that she could muster; who reached in to the depths of her soul and grabed all she could fit into her hands and offered it to you. But it is something entirely different when that woman happens to be my best friend.
Fuck you.