are you listening universe? i fucking mean it.

I came to visit you because I needed closure. I needed something from you that I know now I will never get; that I’m not even really sure how to ask for. I could never trust you anyway. I take solace in that fact. And you and I both know that it goes without saying I deserve so much more than your inadequate existence. I feel like I’ve written this letter a hundred times over. I’ve talked myself out of loving you for near a year. I lost little pieces of myself in you, and what’s worse, I compromised my integrity for you for all these months because I believed you were worth it. I know now you aren't. But, I had to believe that all this meant something and that it was possible for some good to come from the mess we both made. But now I’m tired. I’m tired of the way you make me feel and of trying to quantify elation or, for that matter, depression. I’m tired of your eyes begging me not to ask. I’m tired of the words you'll never say. And most of all, I’m just so profoundly disappointed in you. I fell for you because I kept catching glimpses of the man you so desperately want to be; of the man I thought you almost were. But your actions and your consistently poor decisions prove otherwise. It’s funny, there is this huge part of me that desperately needed you to tell me I meant nothing more than a warm body and distraction from the loneliness that you exude. That I, like so much of your behavior, was merely an exercise in your unjustifiably over inflated ego. Sex is something I understand. Unwarranted cruelty and cowardliness, I do not. But none of that matters anymore. This letter doesn’t really matter anymore. The fact that I cried for the first time in over a year on that plane ride home doesn’t matter anymore. Because you’d never really make me happy. I know that now. Remember when I told you that, at the very least, I’d never not be your friend? I meant that. But I can’t be a friend to someone who won’t return the favor and you haven’t. I was unfailingly honest with you and without exception, willing to accept responsibility for every poor decision I made and, in return, you ran away, like a child. I never asked to feel the way I felt, yet I never negated those feelings despite vacillating on the consequences of this wreckage more than I'd ever care to admit. And, although my capacity to understand you through all of your, for lack of a more severe word, shortcomings, doesn't change the fact that your conduct has left me sick to my stomach. I always new it’d be anything but easy with you. But I, unlike you, really believed us to be worth it. And it’s glaringly apparent that your dedication to me, like everything else in your life, is significantly deficient. Part of me still wanted to ask you to prove me wrong; but I already know you won’t. You should know that I really believed I could forgive you. Though, I know now that I can’t. And regardless, you don’t want a clean slate, and that’s fine. Wilde says those who are faithful know only the trivial side of love: it is the faithless who know love's tragedies. And I’m better for that; for having loved you despite the fact that the esoteric nature of our relationship has finally knocked the wind out of me and I’ve finally allowed myself to let go. I’m defeated and for the first time, completely resolved to the fact that whatever the reason, you and I are without question, over.

Good morning forever.