You call me cruel knowing that if things got nasty so would I. I won’t do anything specific to hurt you; only leave you. Leave you like you left me. Leave you like you never imagine I will leave you. It will hurt. The waiting with hope wavering into depression. Feeling, thinking, that I don’t care, don’t remember. That will please me, you hurting. You could call me cruel now that things have gotten nasty and so have I.

I laugh.

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