Cobwebs.

You doused the pages in your old cologne.
I wish I could rid myself of any memories inspired by your perfumed words.
And yet, everything came rushing back.

Everything but the need I used to feel for you.

Maybe the answers I'm looking for are written in between the lines.
Supposedly, we, as humans, have this heightened ability to learn a lesson from every experience.
Sometimes, the lesson is that we've made a mistake.
Other times, the lesson is that we are weaker than we expected.
This time, the lesson was that I never really felt safe with you.

And for all of the lonely nights I've spent since then; all of the tears; all of the unresponsive tugs on my pillow; the indentations that have disappeared because you no longer sleep on that side of the bed; the dreams, the nightmares, the real-life experiences I attend with my eyes closed; through all of that, none of your letters are enough.

When I was a little girl, I used to dream of someone like you. Someone who would write me notes of love and endearment; that would comfort me in his loss, more than he would comfort himself.

Among other things, this Prince Charming could spell.
You lack such a quality.

And that's always bothered me.

I could be righteous and proclaim that I ended it with you, because of what you said about the people that mean most to my life and my happiness.

Or I could be realistic, and tell the world I tried to fight the fact that YOU were ceasing any adventures with my future self, because I can eat a Big Mac faster than your skinny ass.

"You taught me that beauty was more than skin deep."

Well, good friend, you taught me that despite my deepest wish; my innermost desire for there to be good in all people; some are just fucking idiots.

I feel crass.
And rude.

But you've ruined those lively cells in my brain that had confidence in everything I used to be.
You've become a permanent scar on days like this; ones where I don't exactly feel like myself.
Whatever that means.

In any case, you've left an imprint.
One I am most certainly not thankful for.
You taught me, more than anyone, just how many people cannot be trusted in this world.

And the truth is: you'll never come back from that.

Leave the letters in their envelopes.
Cap your bottle of cologne.
Pry your tires off my driveway, and your thumbprints from my heart.
Click your pen shut, and get a dictionary.

I'll let the cobwebs cover my mailbox again.
The spider I named Henry is more comfort to my heart than you.