The Ex-Files: Irreplaceable

I’m a man raised on an eighteenth century romance values. Love, this sacred beautiful burden that we care so willingly is the light that I carry for myself in my darkest hour. How usual and common – and even trivial – it is for people like me to get hurt; even heartbroken, in our fast speeding world?

Every time I meet you, Mr. Right, I find myself falling for you. Forgetting the simple rules of our modern and ugly world of how to secure a lasting relationship; I believe, time after time, in the beauty of the human soul; a belief that, time after time, proves to be mistaken, even naïve.

Everything I do when I’m in a relationship is to prove to you, Mr. Right, how irreplaceable you are in my life. I start cutting loss ends with other men; I delete numbers and un-friend people from my Facebook account. I neglect my Messenger accounts and delete my Manjam subscription; I play the game honestly and with grace. However, every time, I find that I made my own bed; and now it’s time for me to lay in it. I opened up my heart for you, Mr. Right, yet again; and as easy as writing this was; you disregard it bluntly.

The problem is that you think you’re oh so smart; it’s easy for you to balance yourself on the ball being the clown you were all of your life; but, honestly, finding out that you’re a cheating, lying, manipulating heartless little man was oh so easy. You didn’t even have the decency to hide your tracks good enough not to hurt my feelings with them. Finding the evidences to your little ugly truth is painful; finding them so easily is fucking disrespectful.

You stand, as always, calculating your lies; relaying on your twisted logic; you’ll scream and curse: you’ll ask, like all the ones before you, for another chance; but let me explain it yet again for you: if my heart heals; my dignity will never accept you in my life anymore. It’s my fault really; I made you feel how irreplaceable you’re in my life with love and attention; I was mistaken; you’re replaceable on all levels; I can replace you with ten men, who are as misfit as yourself, with a short walk in Downtown Damascus; however, my idols; my silly Julia Roberts and Kate Hudson Romantic Comedies; my eighteenth century novels and my ability to love is the irreplaceable values for me: you, on the other hand, can go get lost. Take your little rings, your scary movies, your sweet morning kiss while we drink coffee and smoke a cigarette; your funny laughter and your soft hair between my fingertips and you can fucking get lost.

I’ll cry: God knows I’ll cry; but I promise you that all my tears are self-pity tears; you’re not worthy of the gift of my tears.

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. speedzero
    Apr 15, 2012 @ 01:00:33

    لا تبكي يا صغيري فإن الله معك
    مهما يكن
    فالحياة جميلة تستحق ان تعاش
    وسياتي يوم وتدار الطاولات وتصبح معبود شخص ما

    Reply

  2. Trackback: Damascus, I think we’ve got a problem « Sama Says

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