Everywhere I go, everywhere I look: you stalk me like no other, and your presence haunts me like a ghost. You've gotten rid of all of the things that I enjoyed about you; all of your traits I liked the most. I try to find some relief in something, anything; but you are there, menacing and impossible to avoid. Then one day I come along to hear that you are packing up and moving away, and I am overjoyed.
It seems like there is no end to the tragic string of events that you bring with you wherever you go. We go to lunch, you spill your drink on my plate; I help you move boxes and one of them falls on my toe. You, naturally, just chuckle it all away, showing no sympathy, no appreciation, no remorse. Sometimes, I think to myself, I don't know what to do with you anymore, but you'll get what's coming in due course.
I never quite knew how to tell you just how much I loathed you, how I hate every fibre of your being. The way you control me, the way you end up inserting me into the very middle of whatever I am fleeing. This is all well and good: you have pushed me to the edge and now there is no point trying to return. Finally I will address you and inform you of all the things that you felt too self-important to discern.
As I destroy your car and trash your backyard, I contemplate on what we had together once. The initial seemingly mutual respect has thoroughly disappeared and I am left feeling like a buffoon and a dunce. Thwarting my plans to deliver a list of grievances, you insisted on involving law enforcement, just to hurt me. The thought of your meddling lingers, much like a red wine stain, restrained by the clutches of incarceration where I just want to let be.
Forever I am tarred with your stinging memory; forever I must think about you and your horrid tricks. If you left me with any parting lessons of knowledge and wisdom, it is only that there is nothing I can fix. Through your actions I am left no choice but to wallow in my sorrows in the painful solitude that you have placed me in. I am a mere pilgrim of emotional trauma unable to escape from this wretched constriction of decadence and sin.
