dear you.

I keep telling myself that I don't hate you. And the truth is, I don't.

I don't know you. And you don't know me, although you know of me.

You would walk by me in the grocery store without looking twice. And I'd probably walk by you too. I've seen a glimpse of you. Once. But I feel like I'll never forget it.

I have to keep telling myself I don't hate you because I feel like I should. I feel like I have the right to hate you.

There's a few things I wanted to say to you. But even if I was given the chance, I don't know if I could.

You helped someone break my heart.

You knew about me. And you chose, for whatever reason, that it was okay.

Let me tell you something. It isn't okay. It wasn't okay. It'll never be okay.

I was building a family. I was building a life. And in one fair sweep, you helped crumble it down. Now I'm left, to try to pick up the pieces with him. To try to find a new normal.

You were half of what took my normal away.

And sure, he was the other half. But this letter isn't about him. It's about you.

But even amongst all this, I don't hate you. I'm sad for you.

I'm sad that you thought degrading yourself this way was okay.

You deserve to be someone's number one. Not a hidden number two.

So even though I don't like you...I don't hate you.

I'm just sorry this happened.

For both of us.