I suppose I always thought ‘we’ were going somewhere. You felt it too, right? You must know- the power you hold over me. Even when my mind flakes, when it tells me your face is reprehensible, your voice is grating, your personality so overtly sugary… my body still yearns for you. Despite everything, I want to make you smile, to hold your hand, to pry you wide open and crawl inside you, where it’s safe. Even now, if you’d only ask, you know I’ll give up everything for you. But you won’t ask, will you? It’s ridiculous, really, how quickly I can fall back into you. With you or without you, there’s always something missing. I know we’re incompatible. You need reassurance every other day, I need my independence. You believe so strongly- that there are ways things should be, things we should do to make it right. I’ve always thought that’s admirable; naive, but admirable. I, on the other hand, couldn’t really care less. What’ll happen when you realise that, love? What was it you said- “I couldn’t be friends with someone who didn’t try to do the ‘right’ thing” ? Friends. I’d made some dumb joke- “I don’t like you like that,” you said. If that’s true, how come you got with ‘them’ to forget me? How come you stopped talking to ‘them’ the moment I started to talk to you again? How come all those months ago, when I was dosed so high on pain killers, I could finally say ‘I love you,’ without being repulsed, and a few days later you told me you loved me ‘like that.’ You don’t know what you want. Back then I didn't know it too. Ah, but no. You “forgot,” that ever happened, didn’t you? God, it makes me feel so pathetic when I know what you do to me. One minute I’d be pleased if I’d never have to speak to you again, the next I’d want to crawl into your lap and kiss you stupid. You’ve driven me insane, don’t you know? There’s no point to this, no point waiting. What I need to do is let you go. I suppose that’s why I’m writing this; one, to confess outside the sanctity of my mind that yes, I did fall for you; two, to set myself free. It’s not fair to you, is it, my back and forth. If I let this desire- the one that demands I tie you to me and never let you go- free, maybe I’ll be a better friend. One can truly appreciate you. So, here it is: I love you. I love you so fucking much. And yet, and yet, I hate you. I hate what you’ve done to me, I hate that you live in the recesses of my mind, always. This is an act of selfishness, darling. I love you, so I’ll let you go. I’ll always love you, but, I hope, not quite like this. Won’t you forgive me?