March 13th, 2009
You Left
You weren't happy the day I left. I thought you would be, the way you talked sometimes—calling me a brat, a bitch. A bad fuck. That one always hurt. I wanted you to feel good. I wanted you to make me feel good. You never did, not in the end. You never tried.
You would turn to me, kiss me—and then go. Go off to wherever it was that you went, leaving me behind to worry: drugs?
...Another man?
It was. I saw you with him, kissing him on the lips. I think I saw tongue. He was wearing a tight shirt, and I wondered if you loved him.
A week later I told you what I saw. You cried. I remember you said, "Don't leave me. I can forget about Jesse."
I hated that you used his name, that you never told me he meant nothing, that you said you could forget him and not that you would. I hated you. I still do.
As I left, as you cried… I smiled. You weren't happy the day I left, I know that. You didn't want Jesse. But fuck you, Noah—you left me first.