I know you don't read this which means it doesn't matter what I say. But I need to vent, and I can't stand to talk to you, so this is the best I can do right now. I hate you. I think I have for a long time. And I know that you hate me too. Maybe not in the deepest, most real sense of the word, but we haven't been about love for a long time. I was always afraid to tell you all the stuff I felt; it's funny, because words are sort of my thing. But I'm sitting here, and I'm thinking about everything, my whole life, and you're my least favorite part. I won't say that I wish I hadn't met you because if not, I wouldn't have met all the wonderful people you introduced me too. And I wouldn't have fallen in love for the first time. It's not regret that I'm filled with, but an ache; because I lost the person who knew me best in the world. Because I lost my best friend. And because I truly don't think I've mourned that loss until this very moment. So I've got to get this out of me, this anger and hurt, because if I don't it will consume me forever and I will never be able to look at anyone the way that I looked at you.
I wish that I'd left sooner. I wish that I hadn't let you get away with so many horrible, awful, unspeakable things. I wish that I'd been stronger, or that I could've seen how everything would've played out. I wish that you hadn't had this sort of magical power over me, this way about you that could make me change my mind and see the world in a whole new light. I wish that you'd said you were sorry more than a handful of times in 6 years. I wish that I'd listened to my father. Most of all I wish you hadn't loved me. I know you did; and I think even for a little bit it was real. But most of the time, it was the wrong kind. I deserved better.
I hate you. I'm sorry, but I do. They're right when they say there's a fine line next to love. You jumped that one a long time ago. All I ever wanted to know was why. I don't think you can answer that even now, even when we haven't spoken for so long. I miss your voice. And the touch of our hand. I hate you for those things too. I don't want you back. I don't ever want to see you again. But I hate you for doing the things you did, for treating me like no one deserves to be treated.
I'm sorry for everything. For not learning how to cook, or how to enjoy cleaning, or how to not be clumsy when I drink. I'm sorry that I never saw myself the way that I really was. I'm sorry that I loved you as much as I thought I did. As I really did.
I'd take it all back if I could; the fighting and the anger. But I can't. So please just let me be happy. Let me forget about everything, about you, and the years that I wasted. Let me be sixteen again, meeting a boy who seems impossibly perfect for me, and let me turn around and walk away. I'm sorry if I hurt you too. I never meant to. I just... I can't see you anymore, you're fading, and it needs to stay that way. I can't remember what you smell like, or what shade of blue your eyes are when it rains. I need to forget the good, and let go of the bad, so that I can find the person who really is meant to know me best. So that I can get one God damn night of sleep without you interrupting my dreams. I'm tired.
I know this doesn't make sense. I guess that's sort of the irony of it all... we didn't really make sense either.
P.S. Guss what? I'm alright. I'm okay.
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