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An Open Letter to Lebron James: Quit Playing With my Heart

Winchester Mac Cionaodha

Do you hate me, Lebron? You, your beautiful bald head and powerful dunk played with my heart and then broke it. I loved you and you shattered that love into millions of pieces with your move to Miami.
I watched you when you played in Akron. I was your first fan, your first fan. And what did you do? Like any young love, you got up and left me. I poured my soul into being your fan, and you left, just like that bitch Jessica.
I remember sitting in the front row of the high school gym. The way you dribbled the ball past me as I sat at half court just made my heart flutter, your bouncing ball, simply mesmerizing. At that point, I knew you were the one for me; I was enamored at first sight. I knew you would be the best player since Michael Jordan.
We had some great times together, Lebron. I went to nearly all of your games at the Q. Only missed six and a half. (Damned appendicitis.) The other half game was because my sister didn’t let me skip my mother’s funeral. I ditched out after the mass though. Who cares about the burial anyway? They’re just putting a box into the ground.
But I’m not sure why I’m letting you know which games I missed, I’m sure you already knew that.
I saw you score 48 points in the 2007 Eastern Conference Finals. You put the entire city of Cleveland on your back and scored Cleveland’s final 25 points to win in overtime. I was there in 2009 when you were named the league’s MVP. Never have I been prouder of my Jimmy.
Remember the time we had the misunderstanding with security? You nodded your head and pointed at me and I was escorted out of the stadium after I wouldn’t stop singing, “Lebron, I think I want to marry you.” I know that point you scored just a few minutes later meant you agreed. Those men were just jealous of what we had.
But like any young love, our relationship fizzled quickly. You valued the money and the women over me, your best friend and soul mate. What happened to bros before hoes? The money and change in the NBA power corrupted you. Did you even think of me when you signed that contract that took you away from the one person who truly loved you?
I cried for weeks. Helped tear down your mural. Burned your jersey. Bought a whole warehouse’s supply of jerseys and then proceeded to burn those, too. Half went into the flames bonfire style. The other half I saved so that I could burn one every time I felt sad. I was doing three jerseys a day for five months. The burning addiction got worse than my one to booze.
If we hadn’t drafted Kyrie Irving, I’m not sure I’d be here today. While he could never replace how I felt when I was with you Lebron, having someone new in my life did help. I’m afraid to admit that he was a bit of a rebound, but what can you do?
And now you’re back in town. Why? It looks like you were happy in Miami. You were accomplishing all you set out to do. Weren’t you happy? Was I on your mind?
I finally let you go. I finally moved on. And now you show up in my city. Do you have any respect for me? Do you know that I’ll still fall back in love with you despite the pain that your selfishness has caused me? Why are you playing with my heart?

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