Purge.

Confession:

Sometimes I read your blog. It’s not bookmarked in my web browser or anything, so I have to Google it. But I know the right words to enter that will lead me to your beloved site that you are oh-so proud of having.

I roll my eyes when I read those phrases that I’m sure you felt so proud of writing. Or when you use words like “interstitial” or “in medio.” I gag when I read your mention of your “fiancee.” I cringe when you talk about “kissing her longingly.” For many reasons. 

Mostly because you are a disgusting human being and you make me sick. And I feel bad for that poor girl, who is obviously under some kind of spell of yours, or is drugged daily. She could do so much better than you.

I’m glad it’s not be being mentioned in your blog anymore. I’m glad to be rid of you. Well, physically, anyway. The thoughts linger sometimes. Like now. And I Google you to find out what sort of sickening things you’re up to. And I am reminded over and over again how much better off I am. 

It’s like syrup of ipecac, really. Thoughts of you. And there are some nights when I just need to fucking purge. 

Maybe the more I do it, the less traces of you will still be with me. 

Well…one can only hope.