He called last night, close to 1 am - I knew he would. Drunk dialing - how predictable.
"Why did you leave me?" The usual litany.
Feeling compassionate, I didn't ask the obvious question - "Why didn't you keep it in your pants?"
It honestly doesn't matter anymore. I've accepted it. I don't give a shit.
I don't want the supposed "genetic" explanation - that all Latin men do it - it's a lie. Do not dishonor others as an excuse for your own failed promises, mi amor. That's a bunch of crap. And even if it's true, I don't care. YOU made a vow. If you had no intentions of honoring your word, it should have never been offered.
"I still love you," he said, as though that were enough.
Hmmm - keep it to myself, keep it to myself - I still love you, too - I thought, no words, no voice to it. Irrelevant. Doesn't matter. Love you, hate you - moving on. Life is so different now. Good different. Blessedly different. And while I often feel guilty for being so happy without you, it's an undeniable reality.
In the end, I couldn't help anyone but myself. God knows I tried. We aren't teenagers. There's more to life than getting trashed and chasing tail.
I'm not coming "home." It isn't MY home, THIS is - by your choice, as much as my own, though I was the one who had to find the courage to finally pull the plug on something that was already dead, making me the "official bad guy."
You slept with her IN MY BED, pendejo. How do you think I was supposed to feel? Did you really think you had destroyed my ego to the point where something like this would be acceptable? Or that you are such a handsome, macho man that I would be willing to tolerate this?
I paid the bills, asshole. I ran that household. You are destroying everything I worked so hard for, and I am so, so grateful to be away from you ... no amount of love in the world could change this. Foreclosure? You betcha. That's what happens when you piss away your money and fail to attend to your obligations. A mortgage is a promise, too - and you were never really good at those.
You want me back? No - you want me to save the house. I'm done with that. Everyone thinks you are such a hero. Make them right. Save yourself. Stop relying on your stupid ex-wife to rescue you. (FYI - she's starting to wise-up - impressively, it has only taken about 18 years to catch on)
Charming, always charming - and still handsome. Can't you find another sugar momma, Papi? Or is it easier to come back to familiar ground?
I've got nothing, baby - and I like it this way.
As for coming back to you, not gonna happen. Not ever. I can't. Would be like suicide. You are no good for me, and I have no idea why I still love you, but my mind has to be more powerful than my heart this time. And when I think of you f*cking her in my bed, it gets easier ... I'm not angry anymore, but it still makes me want to puke. And that's a good thing.
You are full of shit and wouldn't know true love if it bit you in the ass.
But when you say you did the best you could, I almost believe you. If that is really how you feel, then I do feel sorry for you. You missed out on so much. It was all within reach, and you threw it away.
But me? I'm done chasing empty.



