I Don’t Want to Hate Him Anymore

Photo by Alex Holyoake on Unsplash

He moved to my city. My city. He brought his stupid girlfriend and his fucking cat and got a job that’s more local than insert stereotype here.

I know where he works, of course. I know where he is in relation to everything in my life. I’d have a legitimate reason to visit his place of business, but whenever I’m close to that section of the city, my shoulders tense and my hackles raise. Perhaps we’ll cross…