For the last time, let me call you “Sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart,” huh? That’s a mouthful; all I’ve ever been to you was “Bhe.” You and your terms of endearment. Bhe… what the hell is that supposed to mean. “It means baby,” you say. Sounds like a dog’s dying breath, I say. So I’ll stop being your “Bhe” for once, and just call you by a one-syllable term of endearment you deserve:
I tried to be a good boyfriend, but all I ever was to you was a “Bhe.” I gave you the moon, Mars, and the motherlovin’ Milky Way, and all I ever got was an M&M. You say I’m your baby, but all I ever did was baby you for every insecurity you have. “You don’t love me,” you say, but I never heard you tell me “I love you.” Ever. I have to put up with your whining and complaining at three o’clock in the morning, and I never even heard you mutter a “Thank you.”
Bitter? Nah, I always thought that this was part of the game. I loved you enough to waste time, money, and energy on you and do it all for the sake of unconditional love. Did you do the same? Nope: you moped when I missed a weeksary, cried when I was a day late for the monthsary, and ranted when we can’t agree to a movie to watch for our anniversary. You bitched about your insecurities, you bitched about your paranoid thoughts about my friends, and you bitched about life. All I ever had to do was to buy you flowers, buy you gifts, console you and give you affirmations about how I love you just the way you are. As you look at me with your puppy-dog eyes, I realized how right I was about dog-synonyms.
Oh, I had my fair share of lows, but you were never there. On my low points, you threatened to break up with me. “You’re no longer the man I fell in love with.” “You’re no longer in love with me.” “Ano ba ako talaga sa iyo?” Hell, you were my sweetheart, my darling, my Innamorata. I was nothing more than your “Bhe.” All I ever needed was an affirmation that you loved me enough to reciprocate, to make me feel loved, to not make me feel for granted.
And yet I stuck by you, stood by you, and thought that this will all pay off eventually. That it was all a labor of love, no matter how one-way it was. So I guess I’ll stop making an ass of myself just to love you. This special place in my heart is off-limits to you. This heart, and this love, will go to someone who deserves it more than you do, and more than you ever will.
Oh, we’ll see each other one day. Talk, straighten things out, get all this hate out of my system. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in the next ten years or something. I’m ready to move on with my life.
And I’ll be seeing you in Hell, Bhe.
POSTSCRIPT: Just practice sessions, don’t mean nothin’, really, I was just listening to lots of Misfits tunes that I decided to write one in the vein of “Die, Die, My Darling.” Yet If you’re gonna copy this entry and send it off as an instant last love letter to your ex, you have serious hate issues. Most of all, you have got to be an absolute low-class pissant to do this to your ex in real life. I believe in closure, respect, fairness, the benefit of the doubt, and unconditional love when it comes to breaking up.