Dear you,
Yes, this is another dear you. I don’t know why I’m writing this because these are words you may or not may see. Do I want you to see them? Of course I do. We all want to portray ourselves honestly but don’t do so out of fearing that once you bare your soul and true intent it is too late to take them back. Will I send them to you? I haven’t decided yet.
You know that we can’t be together. You really really know we can’t. So I suggest we stop pretending. It hurts all the more to say this because you always go on about how much you love me before breaking my heart over and over again. Then you pretend like something else is to blame and lament how you’ll never find anybody else again because you rarely ‘meet’ somebody. Seeing as you’ve proved me wrong a total of fifteen times within less than a year, I won’t feel bad if I fell in love with the right girl the next day.
I suppose that’s one half of the truth too. I met a nice girl a couple of weeks back. She makes me really happy despite only meeting her a couple of times and exchanging a few e-mails. Something I never got from you. Oh, right. What I wanted to say – no matter how many times you say it, no matter how much you supposedly love me you forget one thing, my dear:
Being in love and being happy in a good relationship aren’t the same thing. I don’t love you. Not anymore.
Me.