The Last Breakup

It was a giant mistake, me having come here. I wasn’t prepared for the consequences in the forty-five minutes it took me to drive here, it wasn’t until I got what I wanted that I started listening to the ghost within. “There is nothing for you here,” it whispered. There was nothing for me here ever, I agree. While I’m writing I’m realizing that it sounds much more “black and white” now that I’m putting it down on this virtual paper. I shouldn’t have gone. I never should have turned the key. I should have stayed home and found something more pleasurable to do with my time, with myself. Than drive out here, where there is nothing for me. I knew it.

But I believe in breaking things off amicably. But it doesn’t ever some how seem to work out that way. I always say to myself that I won’t judge him. I won’t tell him what he needs to do in the future, now that I’m leaving. And he doesn’t care, he got what he wanted usually and he doesn’t care to listen to any of my missives. In the case of the last guy, I guess I can’t complain that while I was with him, he was ever sweet. He never complained, he was remotely attentive and that, apparently, was enough for my go-get’em instant gratificationally-bent EGO. She was satisfied in the chase of the drive of the getting there of the experience. But my SOUL, my soul was dragged kicking and screaming, my soul, she was beside herself with loneliness afterward and my EGO, she had somehow grabbed the goodies and managed to disappear.