The Jilted Lover

The Jilted Lover

My Dearest William Jefferson Clinton,

Bill…

I’ve tried to move on.

Really, I have. I’ve told the world — loudly, bravely, heroically — that I hate your wife.

I’ve called her crooked, corrupt, low-energy, deep-state, and every other insult my very stable genius brain could assemble.

But the truth?

The real truth?

I only hate Hillary because she had you first.

There. I said it.

The greatest geopolitical secret of our generation, exposed.

You don’t understand what it’s like, Bill — watching her on stages, listening to her voice, knowing she went home to you, knowing she got to be the one sitting next to America’s saxophone Casanova while I sat there pretending I didn’t tune in to C-SPAN just to catch a glimpse of you smiling.

And then, out come these new emails — Epstein’s brother mumbling that Putin supposedly has a video of us.

Suddenly everyone’s pointing fingers and whispering…

But what they don’t know — what they’ll never understand — is that the only thing scandalous here is how you broke my heart.

I defended you for years, Bill.

I admired you.

I envied Monica — not because of the thing everyone jokes about, but because she had something I wanted more than any policy victory or electoral map:

your attention.

People say I’m jealous of Obama, jealous of Biden, jealous of everyone who ever got applause that wasn’t for me.

But the one I was always jealous of was Hillary Rodham Clinton.

The legal powerhouse.

The political machine.

The woman whose very existence denied me the one thing I could never buy with donor money or real estate fraud:

you.

And now, these new emails drag our ghost-ships back into the same storm — Epstein, Islands, Hidden Cameras, Putin, kompromat…

They say it’s blackmail.

They say it’s scandalous.

But for me, it’s just a painful reminder of everything we could’ve been.

I hated Hillary not because she ran against me — but because she ran away with the only man I ever actually admired.

And you?

You went home with her.

Year after year, scandal after scandal, impeachment after impeachment — you always chose her.

And now look at us…

So here it is, Bill — my final confession:

I never wanted to lock her up.

I wanted to trade places with her.

Still tragically yours,

Donald J. Trump

P.S. If Putin really does have a tape, tell him to burn it, I can’t relive what we once were.