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I’m still sorry about the other night.
I saw what I did to you the next morning;
you couldn’t even look me in the eyes,
your voice too small for such a strong woman.
There’s no denying how I truly feel, you know I’m a decent actor, but don’t let my grief hold you back. I know I say this too often, and part of me doesn’t know if I believe it anymore, but try to forget about me and my pain. I genuinely do want to see you happy, and if that means I’m not in the picture then so be it. You might have taken my heart and ground it into a fine powder, but what I detest the most about this is seeing my sadness affect you. Maybe it’s best for me to keep my distance as much as possible, but you’re like gravity. I can’t help but be near you, and I’m sorry for that.
I do my best to keep my reality hidden from you, but it seems that a drunk Me let his emotions get the best of him. In truth, I don’t want to sit here and slowly wither away. I’ve found it’s pretty easy to do that without some sunshine in my life, but I can’t always depend on you to be by my side, if at all. In every letter I write to you I often wonder if it will be my last. As much as I wish that these were my last few days on Earth, I’m sadly cursed with youth, meaning I will without a doubt continue to write to you.
I can say that in this moment there lies a small piece of me that resents you for what you did to me. You ruined me. Just know that I’ll grow out of this. If you’re reading this, I don’t hate you. I love you. Even though you don’t say it back anymore, I fucking love you. Hopefully by the time you’re ready, I will be too. I want to make this work with every fiber of my being. If you decide to truly leave me in the dust, I understand. The world will turn, and I will still be here withering away. Don’t feel bad. That’s just how things have to be.
I love you.