Today the weather was horrid. I had no internet connection all day and was bed-bound due to fever, I only crawled out of bed because I had a meeting to attend and thank God, if it weren’t for that meeting I wouldn’t have gotten a little bit better. Although that’s not what you wanted me to do. You wanted me to stay at home and rest. I didn’t listen. I got better. I didn’t listen and I got better. Bonus!

A year later here I am, giving myself the right to be angry at you. And I catch myself wondering when the hell did you become ever so coldhearted? Darling, haven’t you always been.

Yesterday, you spoke from the place you denied yourself the right of. Yesterday, I cut you off because I didn’t want to imagine you standing there. It hurts to see you -even if it’s just inside of my head- standing there. You were there once, and you left more damage than good.

Today I was claiming what’s rightfully mine. Today I am angry at you. There is no shame in anger, just like any human emotion; it fades away. And those people you were speaking of, I’m better off with ANY of them than how I’d ever be with you. Least to say, none made me feel neglected or unimportant as you did.

I find this strangely funny, how I was wrapped around your finger, in every sense there could be. How I let go of cheating, lying, insulting, humiliating, and last but not least manipulating. And YET you think you can hold any power above me. You think that I owe you some respect, as if talking to you or making you feel significant is not enough. Everyone told me that you were not worthy of my time, not worthy of my forgiveness, not worthy of my existence all in all, but I did it anyway, I forgave you, I let you in my life again, I thought we could become decent human being around each other.  I don’t always have to remember the horrible being you were a year ago and you don’t have to treat me as the inferior insecure girl I was. But then you come and screw it all around by your ignorance and lack of human intelligence. Well, excuse the language sir, but screw you (with a smile and a bow).

Before you jump down my throat, and before you start pointing that finger, I’d like to present you with something I call personality. I, Nesma Nafea, will never again allow you the space to define how I should feel for a fragment of a second.

I used to love you. But not today.

I am angry and I love it. But I hate you for it.


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