E.V.
I hate that your personal memories involving me will live on throughout your art. I feel as if my own private story is being taken from me and distorted. I hate being the gasoline muse to your painful and fiery life experience.
In your eyes, I’m some villain who kept you from your prize for being a good girl.
Yet, I don’t know any stories where the hero lies about having cancer to manipulate the love-interest.
A few months ago, I had my own cancer scare. In the waiting weeks that followed my test, I was haunted by the memory of you, and somehow thousand of miles away, without a shred of communication in almost a year, you had already stole the thunder of that crippling moment. I get retested in Oct, I’ll be reminded of you again then, just in time for your smoke signals of self expression make their way on to the web.
B.V.
You were actually what I would have considered a friend of mine. I still feel that in the chaos, things played out for the best in the end. But from time to time I miss you as a person. Sometimes I try to figure out how to make it work again, but I don’t believe it can. I hope you are doing well, and find someone who makes you feel special without having to hide secrets.
J.P.
You’re one of the most selfish and immature women I’ve ever met. Life is so much easier without you in it. Yet, I must always remain vigilant for when you might start to stir up trouble again.
The next time you do, oh boy, do I have a surprise for you.
-There can only be one.
