I want to be angry. With you. Angry because you couldn't show up for yourself and be better. You wouldn't try hard enough to take care of yourself and so you couldn't take care of me.
I want to be so angry, livid. Over all the mean things you said even though I know you didn't mean to. Over all the times you snapped at me. Or that time you yelled at me for wanting to help you with your suitcase. Or that text message that was mindfully malicious. Or that time you were so insensitive, knowing how much it meant to me. Or that time you mocked my trauma - I would never, ever do that to you.
I want be angry, furious. Because you became that guy. Newly single and sunshine and sand, wetsuits and golf clubs. "Look at the new me, look at me!" The man I chose to love, the man who made all other men non-existent? You are not him anymore, maybe you never were.
I want to be angry, raging. Angry because you GAVE UP ON US. When I never gave up on us, when I never gave up on you. Angry because I was the last to know. Angry because you ducked out months before and got a head start on getting over me. Angry because you moved on with her before I even moved out. Angry because you let me spend months in the same apartment with a stranger. I cooked you meals made with love, gave you midday work hugs and kisses, and continued to share the most intimate parts of me. You allowed yourself to still be the love of my life when the life in your love for me was dead.
I want to hate you, because you abandoned the girl with abandonment issues.
But I can't be mad at you and that infuriates me the most. I spent too much time in the relationship harboring resentment that I've used it all up. Every, single drop. So much that it rolls off me the minute I even try. I no longer have room to harbor anger in my heart for you, which is a good thing. Except now, a ship of sadness has sailed in its place and the only person I'm mad at is ME.