Your not even that special.
I hate that you made me like you.
Your immature.
Your fake.
Your a liar.
You made me think I'm useless.
You took interest without taking notice or taking me with you.
You used me.
Made me angry.
Then made me realize.
I'm better.
I'm me.
I am who I am tomorrow and the next day and forever
I actually know what I want.
They all said I could do better; they were so right.
You don't deserve me.
Or this letter.
Or those wasted moments I thought of you.
It's the end of the end
I'm over it.


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