Dear Notorious D.I.C.,
I don't hate you anymore.
I just wish you would apologize, so that I can finally finish forgiving you. It's been many years, we're both married now, and I'd like to think we can talk about this just enough for you to tell me you're sorry. I think I deserve that much, after everything that happened.
Maybe someday you'll say it. I'd rather it be sooner than later, but I guess if you haven't said anything in the last seven or eight years, I can hardly expect it any time in the near future.
Perhaps you think you can't acknowledge what went on between us, because we're both married now. And maybe you'd be right to think that. But honestly, saying, "I'm sorry I was such a dick," hardly constitutes an affair.
Well, whatever. You never were good at that sort of thing.
You saw the bruises on that pregnant girl's arms, yet you maintained that staying married to her husband was a good thing. I'm glad she divorced his sniveling ass, though I wish she'd done it much sooner.
My own bruises healed, but my contempt for you has never died.
Dear Ninth Grade Boyfriend,
I was an emotional wreck at the time. There was some serious family drama going down. Whatever animosity I had at the time was not about you.
I'm sorry. You were a good guy. I just wasn't ready for something as real as a serious relationship with you.