It's Not Me, It's You: A Breakup Letter to Drake

We think it's time to see other people, because #yolo

Dear Drake,

I think we should talk.

It’s the end of the road, Papi. I know this because I recently killed you in a game of F-ck, Marry, Kill against fellow Canadians George Stroumboulopoulos and Ryan Gosling. It was a moment of clarity.

Here’s the thing: I was rooting for you. We were all rooting for you! “Hotline Bling” could have been Canada’s national anthem. Our love was real. It was the type of romance The Wedding Singer was probably based on. Invoking your name alone brought a special light into my life.

over drake

(Source: thecoli.com)

When Drake yoga was offered at The Drake Hotel, I was there, performing downward Drizzy and praying to the O-V-Ommmm gods. When some genius invented Drake-themed holiday cards and wrapping paper, I was there, gifting the shit out of Christmas. When a Drizzy app was released that simply texted me your lyrics, I was there. Hell, here at FLARE we had an entire day dedicated to you, Drake Day, filled with cookies, colouring posters and Nothing Was The Same on loop. But that was then, this is now.

You’ve spiraled out of control. You failed to uphold a romance I was willing to get behind with Rihanna, the best you’d ever had, and I fully blame your matching shark tattoos. You know that’s the kiss of death. Strike one.

over drake

(Photo: Getty Images)

Thanksgiving weekend you canceled a concert in your home and native land due to an alleged “sprained ankle.” Ri would NEVER do Barbados dirty like that. This was all very Sex And The City Berger dump via Post-It. I was not prepared. Strike dos.

Your recent Apple Music commercial shed light on some important, albeit frightening issues. One: stop trying to be Kevin Hart; it’s NOT going to happen, Regina George. Two: you are no dancer; please leave that to the Biebs. Three: your budding relationship with one Taylor Swift?! You are the company you keep, remember that when you’re running through the 6ix as #Draylor. HARD strike three.

I’ve officially grown tired of your sad-boy antics. You live a seriously PLUSH lifestyle and I’d like that to be reflected more in your music. It’s called growth. If Ja Rule can obtain it, so, too, can you. Plus your height situation is not great, and you’re a born Scorpio. HOW DID I DISMISS THESE QUALITIES BEFORE?

You started from the bottom and now you’ve failed me on multiple occasions. I can’t deny these feeling any longer. I mean, yeah, we could have grown old at Cheesecake Factory, and yes, I had already planned our wedding (an ode to Diddy’s white-themed parties atop the CN Tower). But, alas, NO! We’re done, over. I trust you and your horrendous back tattoos less every day.

So take care and if you’re reading this, bro, it’s too damn late.


Hair-tied-chillin’-with-no-makeup-on girl

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