To The Friend Who Went After My Ex
Our friendship was short lived, not because of something I did, but because of the toxicity you brought into my life. I remember how we instantly connected, and I knew we would be friends forever. I thought we were the exact same person, but where we differ is that I would never go after someone you loved.
You will never understand the hurt I felt when I realized that you wanted to be with the man I spent my time with for months, the man I wanted to love forever. But when that came crashing down around me, you waited like a lion waiting on its prey. You found the perfect, most vulnerable moment to pounce, drawing blood and ripping out my heart.
He didn’t break my heart, you did.
I want him to be happy and find someone who he is meant to be with, but I didn’t expect it to be you. Not this soon after, anyway. You betrayed me like a best friend never would; you watched me suffer in my relationship with him and you got off on it. You like to make people feel abandoned, and you succeeded. I wish that I didn’t care about you or him, and normally I wouldn’t, but when it comes to the two of you together, I clinch up in a ball and stare at the wall for hours, wondering what I did to deserve this.
The truth is that I want nothing to do with you and I want nothing to do with him, but the thought of both of you laughing and sharing memories makes me want to vomit.
I get it, you’ve won.
You wanted to make me bleed and you did, so much so that I can barely breathe anymore. I’ve tried to get rid of the people who bring your relationship up to me, but you are everywhere I turn and everywhere I look. I loved him and you knew that, he hurt me and you saw that, and you took him like he was something to take. Like a book off a shelf.
You thought that you had the right to make him yours when you didn’t. I know you; I know you don’t want him, you want to hurt me and you did it. You beat me up and ripped my heart out and there is nothing left, so congratulations for being the best friend I’ve ever had. 
