If only I could squeeze my fat foot into this stupid glass slipper

I’m so angry with him right now. Not about the money or the woman or the con (although I am still pissed about that), but about the promises he didn’t keep, about the dreams he killed.

I’ve been feeling guilty for leaving him but he left me first, while we were still together. I gave and I gave and I gave and I gave and gave and gave and he just took. He told me all of these romantic things before I moved here – why did I fall for it? The moment I saw him my very first thought was that he lied to me about his height. I should have never believed another word out of his mouth.

The thing is, he wants to be 6 feet tall. He wanted to be a kind and loving spouse. He wanted to know love and give love and be strong and he just couldn’t. Not with me, at least.

I wanted to fix it for him so bad. I wanted to be everything he never had, and he would adore me and be perfect for me and never leave me and never hurt me. I believed in the fairy tale so hard and so completely and it was all just bullshit words. A made up story of maybe that I thought had to come true.

Yet here I am. Alone again. Dealing with low tire pressure warnings and faulty furnace controls. It’s just me, by myself. And I don’t want to be just me by myself. I want my fucking fairy tale goddammit! It’s just going to take so long to believe again. I don’t even know where to start.

I don’t even know where to start.

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