Sometime Around Midnight

I went into the garage this morning to grab the blankets I left in the dryer, only to see a pair of small, sky blue Nikes, neatly set together, just in front of the chair we keep in the garage to take off/on shoes.  Honestly, there were in the walkway, right there, like a statement.  

Someone's here.  

That's interesting because when Miles and I talked about dating a couple months back, we both agreed that if someone was going to stay the night, we'd give the other a heads up.  It was the considerate thing to do.  And that right there, consideration, is something that I felt lacking for the better part of our relationship, so why would I think NOW of all times, I would get that courtesy.  

I had kind of noticed something was different, especially because he seemed to be shirking off some responsibilities, especially playing with Louis, which has left me to deal with all the cats, and let me tell you, I am close to finding him a new home.  I don't want to deal with him and the resident cats (they still hate him).  

Anyway, nothing like a Saturday morning shock.  Remember, I do not want him.  This is not something I need to convince myself of, my romantic feelings for him have already been dead and buried.  However, that doesn't mean my ego isn't raging.

A rage indeed, and I'm gonna let it out.

I had my chance to rekindle our relationship, and what a bounty that was offered, you just got fired for stealing opioids and you told me that you wanted to get back together.  At your lowest, this is when you ask for me back, and you didn't even ask, you didn't even try, you just said that you *realized* that you wanted to get back together.  There was no declaration of love, of how you missed me, or any other romantic connotations.  You were in the lowest place and wanted comfort and support and you wanted it from me, to make everything better.  

Now this girl.  THIS GIRL.  You start dating someone new.  Once you've been sober for the last 18 months and in meetings, gainfully employed, looking like someone great on paper.  Fuck you.  

There is no talk of wanting me back anymore.  No, I was only a match for you when you were feeling shitty about yourself.  Was I only good enough for you when you were at your worst?  When you were hurt over another girl?  When you were in a shame spiral after using?  

Are you going to call this girl your whore when you fuck her, or is she better than that?  Better than me?

Let's be real, you used me and I let you.  I didn't feel any better about myself to demand better, and that's on me.  I deserve better than you, and that is something I practice regularly now.  Tell your bitch to keep her ugly shoes to the side, that's a fucking safety hazard.