The Boy’s a liar.

Car rides to Cabo, your hands around my neck, laughing ‘bout how perfect your hands fit. I wonder when he’ll strangle me next.

Getting high to sublime, singing inside. Love in the woods, beneath the stars, in your momma’s backseat, on your favorite Baja balcony.

I bet she thinks you’re so unique. But it’s all reused, if only she knew we did that too. Some would agree the second time be rather trite - to the point of boredom.

That was our place, we made those memories first. Do you turn to look at her and for a split second, have a horrible sense of déjà vu? Having dinner at our favorite restaurant, telling her how beautiful she is. Toes in the sand sharing your future plans.

I’ll bet you even tell her you love her in between the places of our broken hearts. Daydreaming through a past life. I wonder if the second time around is actually genuine.

As a kid, when I witnessed heartbreak, it was coincidental when love would repeat itself. When Dad took us kids to the same places he brought Mom and those other girls. I never thought twice about my déjà vu. I wonder if he did.

You’d think when fate ends the relationship between two lovers it’d be left at bittersweet. Including a period of reflection and reinvention. Not on to the next just like that. But that’s what’s unfortunate ‘bout guys who fear solitary. They hope to fill the void.

Welcome new girl. They think the most serious flaws are easy to amend. Why do you think the rebounds always have similar qualities… Maybe it’s the end of an outstanding love, but what’s failed to be addressed is left to be repaid at the beginning of a new one. Anything is enough when you're desperate for it.

You may have a different girl now, but there’s nothing new. I wonder did your temper just disappear?

The last thing I remember was your roommate’s face as I walked out of your bedroom. I felt guilty for all your rage. When you fractured your wrist, kicked that door, got up in my face for that crime in your mind. You said you just wanted things to be how they were.

When it was easier for you. Back when I didn’t speak up. When I wasn’t packing all your problems. A time when I didn’t test your obsession with being in control. If only you looked in the mirror and weren’t so sublimely unaware of the hypocrite and its crooked smile. If only they knew the real, you. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so ashamed walking out of that bedroom.

Instead, I forgave you for taking it out on something else. I wonder how you told your story, or do you still beat around the bush behind closed doors?

When our paths met, I felt her discomfort as if her presence didn’t matter. How disrespectful of you. There was nothing safe about it. I only left more afraid. Without dignity, trying to unpuzzle your game of childsplay. You go and win the respect of those you need. What about those you mock, those who don’t do your good deeds?

“Sounds to me like one hell of a predator” — Mother Teresa (mytherapist) preying on the compliant type. I wonder, do you guilt trip her like you did me?

Boastful and always above yourself. Don’t you forget when you dared to disrespect my whole family in a whole other country in front of your new girl? Out of all the embarrassment you brought upon yourself those tailgates were by far the worst.

They say those who know the art of lying seem the sincerest. As the charm swayer himself, I wonder, how do you sleep at night?

Telling your friends how crazy I was, going out of my way to stalk an insecure man-child who pockets his true personality to get what he wants.

Take this as no surprise when I tell you your childhood best friend made the best decision of his life when he finally chose himself over your deceitful doings.

It makes sense why that “one” guy from high school still stands by your side… The guy you and your two-faced family talked the most shit about. When the party’s over I can’t help but wonder, just how lonely does it get?  

I used to want your sympathy, but really, I just wanted myself back. You took my voice. I was only a kid. Unaware of how miserable I was. Submissive to your bullshit.

Keeping quiet when you left for those weekend trips. All the while playing house for you. You’d come home, I’d look you in those guilty brown eyes, and forget all your little white lies. What can I say, the truth hurts… but what would you know about that?

Good people walk in truth, but crooks, liars like you who cheat, are forever the bad guys. It took my madness to realize just how much sanity I actually had. Thanks for the trauma, I’ll be sure to put it in my story.

Btw, I hate to do this to you on your birthday but happy birthday, I hope there’s grey hair in your cake.

ps I know you get deja vu when she’s sleeping in the bed we made. Don’t forget, you’re a traitor.

xoxo, see ya in your nightmares.

k.