We were each other’s first; I married my second. I hated myself and dragged you into my despair, and you came along because you were kind. Breaking up was so hard, but also the right thing for both of us; realistically, I didn’t hate myself any more after that than I did before. I asked you to coffee a year or so later so I could apologize for being a shithead. You saw a friend there and invited her to sit with us. I realized that was probably intentional. Please never think of me again.
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