Clearing your room may not necessarily be a bad thing – you recover all sorts of surprises you never thought you’d see again.
I found your letter tucked at the bottommost corner of my shelf and as much as I hate to deny, I opened it and reread all the stupid memories we shared. It was everything we had, over-dramatized by your usage of flowery words that I now know don’t mean a thing. It was the best effort you could summon, to print a 2 page long note when I would have written a book for you. Your letter never tallied to how you were in real life, as though language itself could lie from reality. I thought I was the stupid one, but now I know it is you.
It doesn’t matter how it began but I’m thankful that it all came to an end. It doesn’t matter all the words you once said but what you did behind my back. It doesn’t matter all the “sacrifices” you attempted to make because you only did it when you could afford to. You couldn’t open the door when I was right beside you because you said you weren’t allowed to.
It doesn’t matter how much access I had to your life because you only talked to me when you felt like it. Even though I was moved by the little secrets you shared with me I now feel backstabbed because ultimately you didn’t trust me.
I am stupid because I was so foolishly sincere to someone who didn’t understand sincerity.
But you are stupider than me because you gave someone sincere a reason not to be.
If you believe that people who care will never stop caring then you are wrong. I once cared so much that I hurt myself to sleep but in the end all you did was stick the knife deeper into me.
; 