Yellow

**An open letter from the past**

Dear *****,

I’m sure you know my name but you don’t know who I am. You called me a long time ago and told me to stay away from your boyfriend. The one you were in an open relationship in. You called me a homewrecker. You said I was obsessed with him. You told me to cut my losses and move on because there was no future for him and me. While I understand you hate me, YOUR boyfriend told me you knew about me, but that phone call proved that it was a lie. Since that was a lie, I’m assuming that you don’t know about anything else. So being the petty gay guy that I am, I’ll fill you in.

You don’t know that I used to like the color yellow. It wasn’t my favorite color, but I like it. He ruined that for me. I can’t look at anything yellow or even hear the Coldplay song and not think of him and hating myself.

The only thing I knew about you was that worked from home and went to the office on Friday. Did you know that I would come over to your place every Friday morning? He would text me to come over every Friday after he dropped you off at work. He told me it was because you didn’t want to meet me, so this way was better.

Yes, when we would play video games, I used your controller. Yes, when we would have our jam sessions, I would sit on your side of the piano bench while he played for me. Yes, when we had sex (which was nothing short of amazing), it was on the bed that you shared and I would take your side when we cuddled before and after every round. Did he ever tell you where the bottle of lube came from? It wasn’t the brand you two usually use but I didn’t think you’d notice. He told me you did but didn’t question it.

Other than your work schedule, I never ask about you. The concept of an open relationship was so foreign that I didn’t even think it was appropriate to ask. You can agree, he’s charismatic as fuck. He can talk his way into and out of anything. I should have quit while I was ahead, but the sex was mesmerizing and he was incredibly talented, both musically and otherwise. This went on for months. He told me you knew about me. You were okay with it as long as it didn’t get out of hand. I knew it already did. He told me he loved me and was leaving you. I guess it was the other way around. You left him.

Even after you left, we kept going for months. Now, he was coming over to my house. The routine didn’t change, only the surroundings. It seemed like everything was perfect but I should have known better. You know the old saying, “Once a cheater, always a cheater.” As things got more serious between us, he started telling me more about his life and his best friend with an unexplained nickname, Scooch.

Suspicion moved to the front seat as I would come to know more about this friend. I never told him that I would stalk this friend on social media, so when I was told about a boys’ weekend outing to cheer Scooch up after a breakup, I knew better. I guess the group of boys canceled because it looked like a vacation for two. I played along to the lie and suggested we have our own getaway for the holidays. He mentioned that he had already booked a flight to northern California to spend the holidays with his family. As time passed, we became more distant. I kept him thinking I didn’t know about the inevitable. At this point, I was using him for the sex. I shouldn’t have done that.

A piece of me still cared about him. I blame the sex. So I felt stupid about being heartbroken when I saw that he brought Scooch along for the holidays to meet the family. During the trip, he would send me pictures of yellow things he found around because "yellow is the happiest color in the rainbow," and if he couldn't be there to make me happy in person, he could try to send me things to put a smile on my face. He should have just stayed up there.

He came to my apartment and everything played out like a Nancy Wilson song. I invited him in and offered him a drink. He told me all about his trip, leaving out Scooch of course. I told him about my holiday: church, family, rest, and “research.” Nothing special. I did, however, read this very interesting message. It seems like Scooch took a different route than I did when I was “the other woman,” and reached out to warn me about the asshole.

It looks like we were both played a fool. I brought up the message and he owned up to it right away. He told me everything. That he was seeing this Scooch guy while he was you, while he was “cheating” on you with me, and after when he and I started playing house. I didn’t know what to say. I told him I was mad but not surprised. Like the other saying, “You lose him how you got him.” I stayed planted on the couch as the entire journey of our relationship (in the loosest terms) flashed before my eyes and into the toilet down the hall.

After what seemed like a lifetime of him apologizing to me staring away at the black screen of the TV, he asked what may have been the dumbest question, “So what do we do now?” I looked at the front door and without a word, he got up to leave. I followed him to the door and his attempt to kiss me goodbye was met with the door closing in his face and this long chapter coming to an end.

I guess this just a long way of saying I now know your pain and I’m sorry.

But fuck that guy, we don’t need him. There will be other big dicks.