When I met you, you said all the right things. Everything I wanted to hear from someone like you. With your fancy clothes and fancy car and fancy job. Your modeling stories. Your acting crap. If I sound bitter, I apologize.

You didn't mean that much to me. It took a few people to realize that. It took digging deep into some enormous caverns in my heart and in my mind to realize this. It took filling my time with everything I could. It took me making imaginary conversations to get over you. I concluded a few things on my own.

Those things are mine. Not yours. Nothing of me will ever be yours. It never was yours. You didn't care enough to want it anyway. That was fine. That was never my problem with you.

It was your lies. Telling me those things I wanted to hear, because you thought I wanted to hear them. I only wanted to hear the truth. All those conversations were false. All those promises were lies. All those hopes were aggravations. You are nothing. Even in your own mind, you are nothing.. I think you know that. I think you know that deep inside, you are just another space-monkey. I think it eats you up inside, but not so much that you do anything about it.