It’s time to move on.
I’m sorry that you have to find out like this. Again.
But you never pick up when I call. And I swore I’d never return to the place we once called our own, not even after all this time. Besides, I can’t have you getting the wrong idea if we were to meet again. You were never mine to keep; we both knew our time was short.
And for a while the taste was sweet. Sure, I knew that other people had fallen out of love with you. I’d heard stories of your long list of ex-lovers. You’d stalked them across Europe and even as far as the States demanding attention, insisting that they return.
I thought that this time would be different. You knew the deal. I was always going to walk away, that’s just what I do.
I wasn’t looking for forever, just an easy fix. And you fit the bill perfectly with your charm and wit; you had the je ne sais quoi others had spoken of.
You were elusive – so difficult to access with all of those secret code words, those hidden meanings.
You were complicated. (You still are.)
But I loved the chase, and that’s what kept me running back to you.
Some would say I used you.
For your money.
Maybe I did. You were the drug that all the cool kids on the block were dealing in, and I like to try everything once.
But when I left you standing in the middle of the airport terminal, reeling from our goodbye kiss and staring at the security gates I’d just walked through, I knew the deal. This wasn’t over. At least not for you.
Sure I received a few calls from you here and there, but who doesn’t drunkenly call up their ex every now and then? We all have faults in our system and baby, I was no stranger to yours.
Then came the letters.
I guess this was my fault really. I did say that if you ever needed to chat, I’d be here. I even gave you my new address.
The letters were full of empty promises, a lousy bid to win me back.
But I was already moving on. I’d even made plans to meet new people, see new places, and I thought you would understand. This was no Ross-Rachel he said-she said situation. We were not on a break. We were broken up. Finito. Or at least I thought we were.
But a court summons? You’ve taken this way too far.
If you can’t have me, then you want your money back. Is that right? Well, I’m sorry but I thought we could be adults about this. We break up. You stop sending me money. I stop answering your phone calls. We meet other people. We move on.
That’s not how you deal with these things though, is it? You never even listened to me when I told you I was leaving. You just sat there with a tears in your eyes, nodding and pretending that you had bien compris my broken français.
I fell into your trap, I committed to our relationship, and this is my reward. A court case.
The worst part is that I’d give you the money if I knew that’s what you really wanted. But how can I be sure that this won’t continue, your heart-broken tug of war? You don’t really want the money, you want the life we had together. No judge will ever be able to give you that.
The pining over me needs to stop. It’s unattractive, and quite frankly, my life is complicated enough without you.
There. I’ve said it. Return to sender.
It’s time to move on.
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