To The Man Who Came Crawling Back: Sorry, You Had Your Chance

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To the Man Who Came Crawling Back: You Had Your Chance

You had your chance. Now it's mine.

Let's get one thing straight: You broke up with me, not the other way around. Maybe you used the "It's not you, it's me" line (in fact, you probably did), and the "If things were different this wouldn't have to happen" bullsh*t.

Really, your eye was probably wandering: at a girl in the office, at a girl from a bar that you were already seeing, at women in general. For whatever reason, I suddenly wasn't enough for you. The grass was greener elsewhere. So you packed up your toothbrush and snuck out the door.


Now you're back.

As Aretha Franklin said, I should have made you leave your key / If I'd have known for just one second you'd be back to bother me. You had your chance.

We were happy for a while. We enjoyed each other. We enjoyed some sex. You said I was your only. You said you'd never met another girl like me. You maybe even said some things about marriage. Fool that I was, I believed every word.

Now I know you were lying. Oh, you weren't lying, you protest. You were deluded when you left me. You were mistaken a colossal, tragic mistake. You turned into a momentary slimeball. You didn't know what you had until it was gone. No one other girl is quite like me, you realized, and you need me back.

You didn't mean to do this to me. You didn't mean to cause the heartache that couldn't be fixed with a pint of Ben and Jerry's and a Golden Girls marathon. I was really broken over you. I called my girlfriends and cried; I got drunk in shady bars with them. I maybe even had some rebound sex with a guy whose name I can barely remember.

I cleaned my entire apartment to get rid of the very smell of you. I bought new sheets. I threw out your mug. You hurt me bad, and you can't fix it with a few sweet words.


But you can make it up to me, you claim. You can be the man you were meant to be, the one who doesn't run off with whatever hussy turns his head and come crawling back when it doesn't work out with her. You can change, you say.

Because the man you were before is the real you, the one who said I love you in the dark, and this guy who ran off is an anomaly, a mistake, a tragic misstep that hurt me as badly as it hurt you.

Because you say you need me back, bad. You need my smell, you need my scent, you need my bed. You need to be back in my life, because I'm the be-all and end-all, the princess, the queen. I'm not the whore you ran off with, the one you claimed really understood you, the one you claimed you had a real connection with. As if we never had a really connection, and as if we never really understood each other.

But guess what? I'm real. I'm beautiful. I'm generous and kind, and have my life on track. 


You had your chance. We were happy together once, and you shattered it by leaving me for someone else, or for other women in general. You decided I wasn't worth your time. You get to decide that once, and it's an irrevocable decision.

After that, when you come crawling back, it's me who decides you're not worth my time, me who decides you need to take a walk. I don't care to listen to your honeys and your darlings. I listened to them before, and I ended up in tears with girlfriend support and red wine.

You had your chance. Now it's mine.



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