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Inmate #1970

I almost feel like I'm serving a prison sentence. My crime? Loving the wrong man.

Today I've been consumed with two thoughts. One -- how much he acted like he loved me. I told you about the night he slept on the floor of my rented room just to be with me. Every time I think about how dedicated he seemed then...and how indifferent he is now, I can't help but cry. What in the world makes a person do that?

The other thought is what a liar he is. The night I met him, I asked him how old he was, and he told me he was 37. Later I found out that he was 41. And he thought I was 29. (SN: I don't look that young, but I'm not that tall and people ALWAYS peg me as younger.)

At the time, I took it as flattery that he thought I was younger and he didn't want to be too old for me. In retrospect, I see it for what it really was -- a man who thought he was about to get over on a young girl.  Now I think he didn't ever want anything more than a good time with me.

Yet he led me on an emotional journey that he had no intention of finishing with me. And this was after I let it be known that he didn't have to lie to kick it.

That's the sum total of where I am today.

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