The Third Law

How often do you think about that one guy? The one you used as a Band-Aid and then tossed in the trash as soon as someone better came along? The guy who gave up everything for you? The one you shattered, and still have the audacity to message when your ego is starving? Next time, eat some carbs. Better yet, eat a bag of dicks. Do not give him hope just because you need someone to tell you you’re pretty. You’re pretty. Now stand fucking still and grow the fuck up, you selfish fucking, Cunt. 

How about that girl? The girl who would’ve done anything for you? The one who paused her life for yours while you strung her along for years? Remember her? It took her village of BFFs just to get out of the house the first few months after you vanished. Do you ever think of her? No, probably not. Pick up the goddamned phone and call her. Tell her she’s not broken. Tell her you’re just a fucking pussy. Tell her you’re not sorry and then hang the fuck up. Do not contact her again.  

If, for some completely made up, self-serving reason you’re unable to do these things for them, do it for us. Do it for the girls who you will likely never meet, but because of you will constantly have to prove their motives and stand in your shadow. Do it for the nice guys. The guys willing to roll the dice on the jaded girl. The ones who actually want a meaningful relationship, but are fighting a losing battle against your ghost. 

I bet you hadn’t thought about it that way, had you? No? Of course not. While you’re traveling the world with your newest fuckboy, there’s a girl over-thinking her every word, wondering what she’s doing wrong, and eventually giving up. While you’re cheating with your latest trophy, some poor bastard is getting the third degree because every delayed text message reminds her of how you unceremoniously exited her reality. 

As much as it pains us to admit, we need you. We need you because if we’re ever going to have a shot at something real, they need to know what you and I already know, you are a shit bag. There was nothing they could have done to make you stay, because you are a shit bag. Most importantly, everyone else is not a shit bag simply because you exist. 

So grab a Bible or a bottle, whatever’s holy, and swear on that motherfucker. Promise to tell the truth. Commit to being uncomfortable for five fucking minutes in order to save them a lifetime of uncertainty. Vow to be a fucking human being for Christ’s sake; and when you’re finished, run. Run very fucking fast. The Karma cops are coming and there is always an equal and opposite reaction. 

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