I fancied you from the moment I saw your photo.
You liked English accents, you loved people who were also fat, you loved girls with glasses…and you were a swinger. Great, I thought, I can’t lose.
Only I did, because apparently I came on too strongly and I should have recognised you were just a swinger and not poly, and that you were already in a relationship and you were too far away. Only I couldn’t, because on your FetLife account, all I could see was how perfect I could have been for you. You don’t even know half those people who you comment on, saying that they have nice bodies, and how much you’d like to fuck them, but me? No. For god’s sake, what does it take that I haven’t got? You were everything I ever wanted in a man, and I have to accept you’re just not that into me.
I want to hit you. I want to kick you in the balls and scream at you about how fucking ugly your fiancée is, and how much better I would be. I mean, you’re that fucking devoted to her, you openly boast about how much you both screw other people. It fucking sucks to know that I’m not pretty or interesting enough for you. It also fucking sucks to know that I can’t ever go for the people I find desirable, because I’m never pretty enough or interesting enough for them. And you’re no oil-painting. You’re a fucking obese pasty white blob with an ego the size of New Jersey, and my god, I just want you to notice me and love me. I hate you, and I desire you, and I just feel so useless. Ghostlike.
We fought eleven days ago. We’ll not talk to each other again. I know you too well.