I have less than a couple of weeks of struggle left until I don’t have to see you for a while, possibly not ever, not through any significant interaction anyway. I look forward now to some rest, a quieting of this mind at last, that has not known a single straight thought, preoccupied from twisting and running in circles around you.

As I have strived to pull away, or if it got too much, even just to stand my ground at any distance from you, it’s hard to say if I’m any less in love with you. The more that I think I see bits of who you truly are, your tendency to cruelty, your default apathy, the more I recognize your effort to care, to stumble into awkward tenderness. Through the various scenes of your emotional experiments, all the heart that I have hardened against you melt in an instant with an overwhelming desire to surround you.

I am sorry I could not be the one for you. I am sorry I could not marshal the love and the courage from either of us to overcome our fears and insecurities. I am sorry that in my disappointment I willfully hurt you, in the most exquisite ways I knew how. I am sorry for the confusion, for the jealousy, for the madness. I am sorry for tomorrow.

For myself, I am sorry to have to quit you.