Atrophied

Dear John,

I don't know if I was being kind or cruel by letting you down so easily, although I'm sure that you would by no means describe my decision as one made with kindness. I say kind because I believe I successfully led you to accept that I thoughtd it was our relationship that was flawed, not either of us, and cruel because, well, our relationship ultimately was unsustainable as a result of your stunted emotional maturity. And by not being completely blunt, I may be allowing you to hold on to the feelings I know you still have for me, instead of seeing me as a cold, heartless bitch.

Oh, and things in the bedroom weren't very exciting, either. And they only happened in the bedroom, which is also a problem. But I digress.

We all use each other, but I definitely used you. For stability, affection, to feel lovable. In hindsight, I realize it's been a long, long time since I was very interested in you. I began to feel like I was dying inside, yet tried to label it as the effects of adulthood and maturity. While I realize that those are the hallmarks of many a person's development, I don't want them for myself.

I don't want a superficial life, and that's what I was destined to have with you, the man who was unable to carry a conversation during dinner.

I want passion, and change, and fits of laughter that leave you breathless. I want more.

And somehow, surprisingly, unexpectedly, I found a man who wants more, too. I don't know if it's going to last, and frankly, I couldn't care less right now. It just feels pretty awesome to be this comfortable with this person who drives me as crazy as I make him.

I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm not sorry I left you. I hope you fall in love again soon.

Detachedly,

Jane