Now that it's all gone, it feels so long ago, and someone else ago. I can't remember anything except all these bad memories that eats at me many times a day. How many of the things you accused me, you've done in greater magnitude, though you don't see it you don't know it and probably because you think that you say it first and that trumps any and all.
There's this bursting impulse to try and have you understand but it tugs at the other end of the fishing line cos I know you will refuse to see it, because you are so convinced that you're right in all of it, because you are so egoistic to admit your own mistakes and childish acts. And I become the one who's wrong and need to change because you are somehow in the position to make concrete judgements as to what I am and issue recommendations on what I should be, based on the little you know of me because all you ever cared about deep down was what you could get out of these - when you needed a comparison with the ones before, when you wanted something you didn't have, something you could talk about, something you needed. You can talk about all these things and rationalise and justify them and make yourself look good at the expense of someone else.
Of course you are as saintly as you put out to be but you didn't even put in the work.