Dear Person Who Deserves to Die a Fiery Death While Simultaneously Being Eating By a Shark,
I know the last time we talked was unpleasant, so to avoid that this time, I’ve created a list of requirements for you to follow, so maybe this time, we can be a bit more civil.
One: Please keep in mind that if I see you in the street, I’ll probably punch you in the throat.
Two: Don’t talk to me. If you do, those shiny new Sperry’s you’ve been strutting around town in will soon become shiny new Sperry’s that have made their home at the bottom of a Walmart dumpster.
Three: If you so much as awkwardly glance in my direction during social events, I will find the meanest cat around and drop him on your neck. So that way you’ll know what it feels like every time I see you. Every time I have to fight the pride that I’ve swallowed because it starts to claw its way out of my throat.
Four: The scars faded eventually.
Five: Remember those butterflies we used to talk about? The ones that would fill our stomachs like the final course in a Thanksgiving dinner? They’ve morphed into crawling maggots, twisting and turning my insides till the thought of you makes them come up again.
Six: I’ve found someone new. He makes me happy. But tell me, why can I still see you in his eyes?
Seven: Find some other girl to torment. Knowing you, it shouldn’t be that hard.
Eight: I say I’m the world’s only living heart donor and that’s because I gave it to you. I’m not a fucking library, I need that thing back.
Nine: Did I not mention what would happen to your shoes if the words that came out of your mouth were directed at me? Then why did I hear you just say that you want me back?
Ten: Honey, my self esteem is lower than one of Flo Rida’s big booty dance floor companions. But when I left the room that day, I slammed the door, threw the key, and never looked back.