Little Shit

Hey Thomas? I hope this letter gets to you. It's me Hannah. You know, the girl you said that you'd go to Paris with in a few years once you got done with law school. This isn't a letter of sadness but...

Guess what asshole I'm dying.

Yeah, that's right. I'm dying. So those wistful dreams we made on the beach senior year about all those places we'd travel, and all those people we'd meet, and all those memories we'd make, they ain't happening.

Don't believe me? Well guess what you bottom-barrel shithead I sent a transcript of my medical records to prove it to you...you know I always liked to prove a point.

Why are you writing this?? You may be asking. We haven't even talked in years and I have a wife and kid now I thought we were done and over??

See the problem with this is that I never got over you. You may have gotten over me, but I was infatuated with you and you were my first love. My only love really. High school was more than just a stepping stone for me, I was lost there. And you were the one who kept me captive.

I loved you to the moon and back, and it had felt like you loved me too.

So when you left for college half-way across the country, I thought you would actually come back. After all, you did say you would. Instead you married a bottle-blonde harlot, and had two kids that should be mine, and live in a literal white. Picket. Fenced. House.

Guess where I've been?

I've been working in that same damn coffee shop that I said I would keep working in until you came back-which you never ever did-and I've been living with my parents as they slowly decline into sickness. Mother died a year ago and Father won't be lasting much longer either at this rate.

You didn't care though did you? No letters of condolences came from you, Thomas. Only the silence of your words to tell me your answer of what you truly thought of me.

So yeah. When I got the diagnosis from the doctor I really regretted my life choices. I'm a 35 year old woman working in a run-down coffee shop with no dating prospects and stuck in a rut of a job. The only highlight in my life has been the promotion to lead cashier 7 years ago. While you've been living the dream life I wanted to have with you, I've been left behind.

And. I'm. Mad. Maybe I don't have the right to, since I very well could've just up and left and got on with my life. But I am stubborn. And I was going to just wait until you contacted me, whenever that would actually happen. But at this rate, I'm going to be dead by the time you come back to this small-ass town.

Oh by the way, I'm leaving my burial to you. Do whatever you want with my body I honestly don't care. Burn it in a bonfire while getting high off your ass and pissing on me if you wish. And I'm leaving all my stuff to you. I don't have a family much longer to give it to nor any descendants anyway. Might as well make you feel as crappy as you can because you god damn well deserve it. Those things about patching things up with others before you die? Yeah, no, not me. I'm going to the grave harboring these feelings of hate, anger, and yes forever unrequited love.

So feel guilty you little Shit.