Ya don't even have to worry about it anymore. It's not you, it's me. We're done. And I'm not making some grand move to the other side; I'm just finished.
Blame it on John Legend. Blame it on Dustin Kensrue. Blame it on my idiot heart that thought I could handle it all. Nah, wait...blame it on you. It's you, not me. You told me to trust. You told me you felt the same. I bared it all and let you see it, gave you honesty, gave you generosity, gave you more than you deserved.
And you gave me back exactly what, deep down, I knew you would. And it's not the first time you've done it to me, but it will be the last. It took this one...this one after roughly 16 years of relationships for me to nail on the head exactly how I will never feel again.
I may slip up. It's possible you may get my naked body at a moment of weakness in the future. But trust, dearest men, that I will never "mean it" with you again.
One of you may have been the iceberg sticking out of the water, but the whole of you under the surface sunk the fucking ship. I learned my lesson. It took me an embarrassingly long time, but I learned. It took a divorce. It took hearing, "I don't care enough about you to try." It took tears and trips across the world and empty bank accounts.
There's a reason I never trusted you. Being right has done got old.
It took the lot of you, and I will not take another.
And please, dear men, don't patronize me with saying this is fresh and I'll love again and all the other bullshit you can conjure. I gave you that countless times, and I am done giving my life away.