>I received another text from you this morning. I figured these would have died off once I told you that I was emotionally forced to delete you from my life. Whether it’s from Myspace, Facebook, phone book, e-mail or saved texts – you had to leave. But you won’t. Your simple text this morning of “Already in a relationship. Be careful, Bre.” seemed sincere, maybe, but it was also drenched in ‘I’m still wondering what you’re doing’. I’m sure if this message had a specific scent, it would reek of wet clothes that have sat in a car for far too long. That scent that causes car doors to slam and nostrils to sting. My car door is trying to close, but a piece of clothing hangs in my way.

I’ve already explained that I’ve tried so hard with you. I gave everything I had, to the point where I was emotionally and physically drained. I felt pathetic for crying over a boy, when I knew all along that a guy should never make a girl cry. I kept pushing to make it work. The states that kept us apart seemed minute to the fact that you never wanted to talk or hear about my days or wonder what I was feeling. Maybe it’s because I’m a hopeless romantic at heart, but I will stand on my own two feet to flee from becoming dependent on someone. At least, someone who does not want to give an equal amount into a relationship. I look at what I tried to give to you for that time as everything. My emotions were drained and my heart was spent. I could not make you see. Now why should my heart ache any longer, because, possibly, you’re rolling around to ‘she’s really gone’. I can’t let that happen. I cannot and will not allow myself to fall back into the mix of these feelings where I’m always wondering what is going on in your head and why you’re acting the way you do. Not when I have come across someone who is eager to talk and asks what I’m thinking and how I’m feeling. I can’t.

What a dislike most is that I feel slightly bad for slightly hurting you in my actions of moving on. It’s not out of spite or out of retaliation. It’s none of these things. It’s more that I’ve gathered my composure surprisingly fast, and I’ve decided to get to know the guy in the group I’ve been with every weekend for the past two months. I’m sorry, but I’m not. This guy really is everything I wanted you to be. Again, I’m sorry, but I’m not.

“I loved you ’til it killed me, so my logic wouldn’t hurt you. I know you might blame me anyway. Well I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You’re not helping yourself to me. I’ve tried all the things they told me to do. Trying to close up the wounds left open by you. And if I seem doubtful, distrusting… I am.”