I could never regret you, I just wish I had never gotten involved. We seem to be a recipe for disaster. Each time we come back together, it never ends any better than before. It increasingly becomes better for you and worse for me. Why is that? Tell me, love, how do you move on so quickly from someone who “means a lot to you?” How do you go from saying you’re “crazy how me,” and that I “couldn’t scare you away,” to acting like I don’t exist and that nothing was ever between us? I think often about when we danced together and where we went wrong. You said it was nothing I did, but it’s too hard to tell if you’re lying.

What is she that I’m not? Why am I never good enough for you? Or am I too much? I think about the night we stood in your house, alone, how you held me, and how we never wanted the night to end. You kissed the top of my head and held me close. If I had known it was the last time, I would’ve made so much more of it. I don’t know how to believe that I meant anything to you. I love you so, and I’ve never been able to tell you. They say to tell the ones you love that you love them, but I could never tell you. Instead, I must seem as though I’m fine and that you don’t mean a thing to me.