I know your name isn’t John. You smiled and lied about your name. I know this now and it hurts me.
I know you’ve lied about everything.
You aren’t John.
You aren’t naturally blonde.
You aren’t a banker from Nebraska.
You aren’t single.
You aren’t so many things. I wonder what you actually are. Who are you? What is your truth?
But it doesn’t matter.
Oh, yes. It hurts, but none of it matters.
You see, I’m leaving you.
You with your sixteen wives and fifty-five mistresses.
You with your police record.
You with all of your lies.
If you were here in front of me, I’d smile and kiss you. I’d thank you for making this so easy for me.
For making it easy to say good-bye to you.