Last year, we met for the last time. You stood in the cold entryway of Amsterdam Centraal. It was raining outside. You wore a blue scarf. I remember your face. I remember how it hurt me to look directly at you. You: who had loved me so tenderly and then turned ugly.
You lied to me again there. For the last time.
I feel so sad and angry at you today. I uploaded the video you made for me in December 2011, and I nearly posted it here. It was the rebuttal to the lies you told; the counter-argument to the lies that came back through the Navy and took my work and changed my life. I could have used it to fight back last year. I could have thrown it back in their faces. I could have used it to destroy your life the way you destroyed mine.
But you have corrupted nearly every sweet and tender thing we shared. This is one memory I get to keep that is mine. You loved me once. At one time I was loved deeply. You acted against that love, let it drown in the deep of your fear. You became less than you ought to have been. But the memory of that love is precious to me. I get to keep it. There was a man who loved me once.
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