Oh the sudden interest …
And where was it the year before, or the year before that, or the year before that, or the year before that?
How long has the opportunity sat unwanted, passed on, as he searched for what he really wanted but couldn’t obtain.
Oh, no, only when grief struck … when loss took someone from you, then the interest grew acute, snaking in and using it to his advantage, suddenly ready to provide the shoulder he never did before.
Even one you call one of your closest left a thumb … a thumb. Do you see your worth to ones you fawn over?
Even one who should hate you sent public condolences, though you likely never saw them.
But he, he did not leave anything, did not say anything, did not even leave even a petty thumb, no public sentiments for prying eyes, instead creeping into messages, as he did not want his manipulation seen.
Are you stupid? Are you so desperate and naive that you cannot see a play?
He conned you in secret, like a molester … and you fell for it, and he hides himself now so that his trick is not undone, keeping you fed lines in the dark, until he can take you from family and friends and isolate you.
That is the plan, you silly, vain child.
He does not want you, but someone to control. The signs are textbook, but you don’t read.
This ugly, adult incel bastard, who cannot find anyone near him, this is what you want to give yourself to, what you want? And you expect it not to be as sour as what you chose before?
Oh, but what business is it of mine, you ask? Simple, it is mine because you tried to kill me for much less, what was sincere, love that grew organically, not forced in the moment, driven by an opportunity to own.
Sincerity is not something he knows better than to mouth.
I’m sure he keeps tabs, ready to counter the truth with whispers in your ear, but he does not love you, and he never will … or he would have before, would have made it known so long before.
He loves only himself and that he does not hide, but feeds you sweet words … in confidence, in the dark, where no one can counter the lies. You are nothing but a placeholder, a substitute.
Ask him what he loves about you? His answer will be cobbled, built upon memories from the past, things that no longer exist, or it will just be lame and flowery … because he does not know you enough even to be a friend … and you do not know him, and you miss the signs of woe in your vanity.
You are a fool, and I revel in your selfish blindness. No one deserves it more, for you use as badly as he. You could have been beautiful, but you choose the ugly from the pile every time, self-abasing, self-demeaning.