an open letter to the guy I won't be responding to...ever:

Dear Pegasus,

Yeah, Pegasus. (I take the most different thing someone says to me and use that to give them a nickname. And, thanks to a certain text convo we have had, you are now the Pegasus.) Side note: for those of you who don't know what I mean, see Broad City, season 2, episode 4, I think.

Well, Pegasus, here we are. You have stopped talking to me 3 times now, and for some reason you have made your presence known again. Why? Wanna do round 4? Well, I'm here to give you some bad news: there will be no round 4.

when you trying to do round 4...

I am done. And not just done, but hella done. This has been going on since July, and I'll admit to being a half-wit to let this go on as long as it had. You dropped the ball, bitch. You really did. But this? I'm not doing this anymore.

I can't. I really can't. I think if I go through everything I'll be able to explain why, so just let me.

When this all started, I knew what this was. It was what it would be. You lived 2 hours from me, and I knew that I wouldn't drive for dick anymore, thanks to that mistake from May, but then you said it. You said that thing that gave me hope, and it is so stupid when I think of it now. You said that you'd be willing to drive to meet me.

Ugh. I wanna slap myself to hard right about now.

So we started talking. Moderate flirting, mostly sexting. At that point and time, it was what I needed. There was that hope that we would meet up, but I now chalk that up to me being stupid enough to believe your meaningless words.

and you gotta go on OkCupid to try

And then it stopped. It slowed down and stopped. I was bothered by this, possibly upset. I can't remember. It's better for me if I don't. I think by that point I already liked you, so it's very likely that this hurt. Moron. Me. I'm a moron. But it's okay, at that moment it just didn't matter. Men were shit the summer of 2016 and I did my best to just stop caring. I went to LA that weekend, met up with my bestfriend, bared my soul, got cross faded, and proceeded to distract myself with other things, like missing my life and family and friends in LA. And I did start talking to another guy. Another cheater. Dumbass me.

When I found out he was a cheating fuck, I stopped going there. It would take me a few weeks, but I would proceed to delete my dating profiles. It was during that time when I heard from you again. Begin round 2. I was just so upset with men that I was just so fucking done. I was deleting my profiles and I told you this. I wasn't going to talk to anyone from those things again, and I told you this as well. You hoped to be the exception, but this wasn't the case. Your words failed, again. I started to see a pattern. You promise good, your words are good. The follow through, yeah, it seriously sucks. End round 2. I moved on.

don't drink and tell guys things

I turned 26, and I grew up and got a place of my own, and a Kermi (that's a cat) for myself, and I thought, "hey, maybe I'm ready to deal with guys again" so I opened up them shitty dating profiles again. What the hell, right? I was embracing that part of me that didn't want to be attached to any guy. I just went with the flow.

Hooked up with one different guy later, and here you go again. Round 3. I am so jaded at this point that I call you out for just leaving me hanging last time. You pull some bullshit move and say you responded to what I said. Fuck you. I don't take kindly to that lying bullshit. But I let you back in. I was bored and in the prime of my "fucking random guys in 2016" phase, so I thought why the hell not. I really want to slap myself for how stupid I was. I do.

It would be during this time that you told me that one thing that you wanted to do sexually that is the origin of your nickname. (I did explain this earlier people.) And I went along with it, though you should know that it's not something I'm comfortable doing at this point and time, possibly ever. But you are The Pegasus. This is what you will be from now on.

I didn't! I never fucked him.

It was hardcore sexting, but I didn't care. There was phone sex and I really didn't care. When you know you're being bullshited you stop caring. You told me that you had a "sexfest" with some girl and this hurt. I'll admit that this made me jealous. It did. I hate myself for caring. A few days later I said something that upset you because I didn't remember that you weren't into that. Excuse fucking me. I don't expect you to remember everything about me because I know I'm meaningless to you. Know that that goes both ways. And then you stopped. No more texts. End round 3.

When a guy stops texting me now I have conditioned myself to no longer respond. "Dating" in 2016 should be this. I have enough self respect to not let them know I'm going there. I may obsess and whatever, but by not letting you know I care, I feel like I have the upper hand in my life and that counts for something.

I don't think I like you any more. I hope I don't. There is always that small chance that I might, but I want to kill that chance. I want it murdered, and it to be buried in some long lost woods where it's never to be found. I want to get to a day where you don't matter and when I think of you my mind goes blank. But this can't happen if you don't disappear.

Just go away. Do me that favor and go away. Stop texting me. Stop messaging me. I'm not responding. I won't respond. I don't matter to you and we all know it. And just so you know, I don't know why you're coming back. I am curious, but I won't ask. Instead, I'll ask everyone else.

Why the fuck is he back? We never met, we never fucked. The closest we got was sexting. No, wait, phone sex; and that was only once. So why the fuck is he coming back? It's not like he likes me or gives a flying fuck about me. He's proven that by the fact that he continues to stop talking to me, and by the fact that he's fucked other people. I know I did too, but that was me trying to move on.

Wait, hold on. Does this mean I should tell him I like him? Okay, you know in shitty romance novels, for those of you who don't read them I'll explain, anyway, in shitty romance novels at the end of the story when one of the main characters tells the other main character that they like or love them, the second main character says something along the lines of "Omg I feel the same way!! Oh this is so awesome! Yada yada yada..." if I share his feeling is there a chance he feels the same? Logically, I feel like nope, this won't be happening. The distance and the fact that we don't really know each other, plus, you know, the fucking of other peoples. Yeah, there's no way he feels the fucking same.

read receipts on #savagevibes

Yeah, Pegasus, don't worry. I won't bare my "soul" to you. That's a complete waste.

So just stop. I am done. Go mentally fuck with someone else and ruin their year. You've already ruined 2016 for me.

Sincerely,

The bitch who is listening to Drake non-stop as she writes this public letter.

As I'm writing this I'm listening to this Drake song on non stop replay:

It's over, yeah it's over yeah, I'm leaving, I'm gone
I can't stay here no more and I can't sleep on the floor
Man, I'm leaving, I'm leaving, you know I got my reasons
Yeah I'm leaving, yeah I'm leaving, yeah I'm leaving, I'm gone
I'm leaving, I'm gone
I had to knock down the wall
Yeah I swear to god that I'm gone
I'm leaving, I'm leaving
No looking back when I'm gone
No more (gun shot) 

Inspirational.