This is the last letter. If there's interest for it, I can write an fic based on this. I feel like writhing a break-up fic.
The thing here is, Blaine that I write whatever I want. I dumped you, and yet you believe I feel something for you? Isn't that a little to hopeful, even for you?
I might have changed. I'm somewhat cold. This is due to the fact, that all I ever got from feelings was weakness, Blaine. Don't you remember how ashamed I was of crying? I grew cold so I wouldn't care, Blaine.
Don't think that I care because I tell you this. I don't.
My father says nothing, for the record. He and I are formal. We don't speak unless we really have to. He knows this, why is he playing the old, lost father? It makes me somewhat sick.
I don't need you justifying my life choices. If you knew what was best for the world around you, you either backed off or vanished. It's been years and you still haven't gotten over me? I keep asking myself why you even bother keeping yourself alive. The whole 'loving the world' thing is crap, Anderson. You spilled your heart out for me. Don't forget that. You told me I could break you, and I did, Blaine. So why do you even bother, when I was your reason to love the earth so much? And perhaps the sun would shine a bit brighter on the rest of us, if you flushed your life out. Huh?
You talked big all the time. You talked so much about standing up for and being strong for me when I needed it. Where are the flowers you promised me?
What does it matter to you, if my husband throws roses at my feet? Why do you want to know if he loves me like you?
I don't talk about my family. And they don't talk about me, am I right? They hate me, despise me, like I hate them. My nephew hardly knows my name, why would I write to hear about him? Finn treated me badly for so long, and I was bleeding for him for years, so why should I call to give him a pity talk now?
How do you even dare ask me about my mother? Ugh. How I sat with you by that stone and lied to myself. And cried like it was going to help anything.
But you keep trying to remind me of our 'love'. Blaine, you, compered to my husband, are nothing. You are poor and shitty compared to him. He might not be my first, but I'm never leaving him for someone as pathetic as you. So give up, Blaine, before you humiliate yourself even more.
The treatment was the outcome of a relationship you helped build. I didn't want you anymore, and you kept denying that, so I forced so many harsh things on you. I was ready to hit you and call you anything to just make you realise that you had lost me. But you are such a teenage boy that you just don't believe in evil.
And I feel like throwing up, Blaine. You make me sick.
I hate my old self. And I hate you, Blaine Anderson. This is a waste of time. Why do I even reply to you? What the hell does it matter if your life sucks? Mine is amazing. Everything I've ever wanted. And you aren't a part of that. To me, you're a ghost, Anderson. Something I have forgotten.
And you are right you shouldn't do anything. You shouldn't try to make me come back to you or love you again. I told you back then. I don't love you. I never will. You are that part of my past I want to forget the most.
I don't want to remember loving some fool of a guy. I don't want to remember loving some hopeless person with no future.
You, Blaine Anderson, you're a loser.
You were that the day I met you and you still are. This won't ever change, will it? You will always be the first guy to tell the tales of your mind and sob over the past.
Guess what, Blaine. You can't change what happened.
I'm better off without you. That's what this all comes down to. I love my life without you. I don't want you near me. I don't want some cried-on reply letter that tells me you're sorry or that you love me.
You know, that this will only hurt you further.
Anderson? I hope you find something better to do than this. I hope that you listen to me.
And die.
Kurt.
Maybe I should write what happens with Blaine after this.
So many stories to start on.
