I’m trying to tell myself that I’m not selfish for doing this, but I am. I’ve tried to immerse myself in my love for you to fill the vacuum but I can’t. It’s all so cold and pointless nowadays. I have no drive or will in me anymore. It’s all so hollow. I remember a time when I could get high off your smile and for days I’d crave nothing else, but the darkness in me has always had an incredible thirst and I’m afraid the light in you will be engulfed if I stay.
I want to say I love you and I do care but its pointless with one hand on the trigger. I’ve tried to summon the courage to face another tomorrow but the pain is getting worse. It cuts me up and laughs when I cry, mocking all my futile attempts at getting a remedy. For a while I thought you were it; my remedy, my cure but I’m back to scratch, back to zero, back to black.
I tried to lie to you. Tried to act like I wanted your salvation. Like you had a chance, but I was always too far gone. An addict to the chaos, thriving in the flames of whatever new thing I’d managed to wreck. I shouldn’t have fed your hunger to fix things but your faith in me was refreshing. It’s really something to not see disappointment in the eyes you stare into. It’s something entirely magical to see love.
There’s this really sucky song by this really shitty band that says, ‘We all just want to be loved’. But I want you to know that I never wanted to be loved until I met you.
You’re going to find blood all over this little room we’ve come to call home this past year. And there I’ll be cold, disfigured… gone. I want that to be the last image you see of me because that’s the real me. I was always messed up; I’d just perfected the art of hiding it. You’re going to feel a lot of different emotions when you see me. I went through the same thing with her. Of all the emotions, I want you to cling on to hatred. Hate me like they always did. Finally allow yourself to see the creature they’ve known all this time. Train yourself to forget me until I am nothing but a vague, distant memory.
I’ve never known anyone quite like you, who gives love in its purest form and asks for nothing. It’s no wonder I’ve written this letter so many times before and always change my mind just in time to tear it up and put the safety back on. Always waiting for the day when the coward in me will take flight. Maybe today is that day or maybe you’ll come home and we’ll have supper like we do every day. And when you ask how my day was I’ll skip over this part and casually rush through all the other boring details.
I do love you; it was just always going to end like this.