…but the time comes when you just know.
It’s over. And in case you were wondering, it’s you, because it’s definitely not me. I’ll admit, I gave you way too much power, but that’s over now. And for the record, I hope you take considerable offense to this.
You see, the thing is, you’re not real. You’re simply a far away dream. An unattainable reality. A lie. And I’m sick of giving this thing my all, and you letting me down again and again.
“But..what about the memories we’ve made? Won’t you miss those?” you ask.
Oh, yes. The memories. How could I forget?
Our so-called “memories” are ones where I am left bruised and battered in your wake. Like the times I cried in the mirror because what I looked like and what you looked like didn’t come close to matching up. Or the times when I made the honor roll, but you never forgot to remind me that it was the AB and not the A honor roll. Or how about whenever I was picked last, or even never, and you berated me for not trying hard enough to be you – because maybe then I would’ve been chosen.
Did I mention the lies? Yes, you’ve got plenty of them and they’re all so subtly wrapped in beautiful paper, like the IG discover page and teeny-tiny waists with (disproportionate) voluptuous backsides and bright smiles and hands holding and degrees waving.
And I’m so over it.
I’m sick of you flaunting yourself in my face, reminding me of how far I am from where you are. I think what I’ll be glad to be rid of most is your constant taunting and ridicule of my attempts to “get on your level” as it were. But I’ll be fine. I’m quite happy to let you go and not live my life in fear of letting you down once again. Because that’s all I seem to do around you. Let you down. Even though I give you my all and best effort, NOTHING pleases you.
And that is why – I’m breaking up with you, perfection. Even more so, I’m breaking up with the very idea of you. And the idea that any other human could ever attain you either.
It’s funny, because if I’m honest, I never really knew you to begin with. In this world, in this life, you’re not actually real. You exist merely in my mind. And I could beat myself up over ever letting myself believe that you could actually exist, but it would be a waste of my time.
Just like running after you is a complete waste of time.
So, here. Take your stuff back. Take the broken hearts masqueraded by fake smiles and SnapChat filters. Take your Cosmo, Self and Health magazines with its “untouched” and “real” cover models. Take your whispers of doubt and shouts of discouragement. You can have it all back.
I won’t be needing them anymore.
No, I’ll be just fine without you. And I know you’ll be back. You’ll be back begging for my attention and you’ll cling on to the hope that one day I’ll eventually come around to look for you. But I won’t.
Breaking up is hard to do. But believe me when I say this: it feels so good to be over you.