I wish someone told me not to. Maybe I should have figured it out when you forgot to call me back for a couple of weeks. Maybe I should have listened more closely when you talked about your ex, and not believed you when you said you were over her.

Maybe I should have called it off when you eventually admitted you weren't over her.

Should've, could've, would've.

And it continued, the rollercoaster romance, of cancelled dates, of short sojourns of happiness, of long phone-calls late into the night. I was too blind to see what everyone else saw: you weren't ready, you were still in love with her. Yet you wanted me there – even though you were with other women, you got into a jealous rage when I did the same. I still remember you called my date Quack, in a fit of bitchiness, telling me she wasn't a good choice for me.

You still do that with every woman I meet.

Why didn't I leave? The same reason you never left her, I suppose, despite everything that she did to you. You may have forgiven her for every time she hit you, but I can't do the same. I wanted to rescue you, take you away from her blows, from this horrible relationship you were willingly trapped in.

When the final anvil broke the camel's back, it was when you asked me to lie to her, about our relationship. It was when you denied to my face that you were ever involved with me, in front of her.

Even The L Word could not have come up with a more dramatic scenario.

You apologised later for making me into a mistress, and you think the whole drama resolved. I was a mistake to you, a sidetrack from the project of loving her. But you have no idea how much impact you had on my life.

Do you know that you gave me a newly-acquired taste for voluptuous women? Or that I kept comparing how I felt about the people who came after you, to how I felt about you. You confused me .. I don't know what kind of women I like anymore.

For the first time in my life, I truly understood that looks really didn't matter, though I knew it before. Thanks to you, I got over the last of my hang-ups about race and dating. I stopped caring what people thought of my choice of partner.

You still have no idea, how you changed me.

You still have no idea how I am still not over the way you changed me, even though I am over you. It is all your fault, you know... curse you for making me fall for you. Curse you for making me happy in the short time we were together.

But thank you for breaking my heart.