A Letter to My ex.

Hello dear. I hope you’re in your worst health condition ever.

Whether you got punched in the face, killed in a tragic car crash, got ten hickeys every night from different girls, or got married. I. Don’t. Care.

What I care about is my stuff that you shamelessly keep until now. My gold ring, the one that you lent to your best buddy, who later stabbed your back. Yeah tell me that funny moment where you accidentally made out with his hand and had a “sandwich” with him.

A wise man once said, a wife is the reflection of her husband. Obviously, you’re not because your-so-called-wife is trash-talking & spreading rumours about me. Thank God I wasn’t the bride, altho your marriage story is something to question about, like all of your other stories.

We both know that I can retort to her silly accusations easily, I have proofs & factful points, but to entertain two wackos… I’d save my ass and not get down to your level & enjoy life instead. Fret not, I won’t share the “thing” and play dirty like your wife.

There are so many things to pity about you, but even my sympathy for you is gone. You’re a coward and being her hideous, timid galliwog is picture perfect.

“Yes, I’d like to order a large set of I don’t give a fuck, add on a large of I hope you’re dead.”

Sincerely, a human being,
Better-Than-Your-Witch-Wife.

P.s.: please die rn & rot in hell.

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