I'm sorry. I'm a bitch. I'm heartless. I'm cruel. That's why I couldn't stand you loving me unconditionally while I felt absolutely nothing. That's why I said goodbye to you without kissing you one last time. Holding you one last time. Maybe I was afraid that you'd never let go, but I thought that if I did let you (one last time), you'd stop time and make me spend the rest of my life suspended in that moment.

We were so close I could feel you inside me, breathing. In the end, that's all you wanted from me really. To be inside me. You didn't care for my half-arsed meanderings on Marx, multiculturalism or feminist criticism on pornography. I didn't care about your car or your stereo or the sub-woofer that took up your back seat. Stupid little things that mattered so much to both of us. We didn't care. The time went so fast when we were together; your mum called you on your mobile, or I had to be back home - we only had time for mutual affection.

You talked of marriage and kids and your career. I felt like you wanted me to be the secretary in "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying". You know, the one who says she'll devote herself to some guy she met a few hours earlier… no you wouldn't. (You didn't want to see that musical with me did you?)

The night after I broke your heart I went out dancing with my best friend. And I kissed another boy. But last night on the radio they played "Is this love?" by Bob Marley. It hurt. Bob must have been trying to reach me and slap me in the face. I just hope that somewhere out there you are listening to "Buffalo Soldier". You said it could always make you happy. (You said that about me too.) I just wish that you would hate me.

Natalie