Dear You,

It’s my fault for liking you. I see that now. But it’s your fault for making me admit to such a thing. I was more content with holding it in because I already knew the outcome…but your insistency made me, for a short minute, think otherwise. And boy, that short minute turned into an hour and by the end of it I’ve said all the things I wish I never had.

You indecisiveness with your own life, I cannot fault you for. But I can fault you for subconsciously knowing that you would not be with me, but still actively pursuing me. Its fine I guess, because it’s all a game in the end. Someone wins, someone loses, and the loser always gets hurt. And in the end, it is not you who are hurting, it is I.

I’m going to contradict myself here and base my opinion on assumption. But how can I call it assumption when it’s so blatantly clear? Debate me on that one. Call me wrong for writing you this letter, because I’m sure you know who you are. But I feel as if there really isn’t anything left to say but a bunch of broken words. And who needs anymore of those in their life.

*throws mic*