I'm not wishing you well, bastard. I'm going to be honest and admit that I sometimes hope you never meet anyone who'd try to understand you as much as I did. I won't think of the good things alone. Instead, I'll remind myself, every time I remember you, that you no longer deserve the thought, much less the tears. You deserve nothing from me. Not after you broke my heart the same way you did a year ago. Not after you blamed me for your feelings.
You can't do that, you understand? Your feelings for another person, regardless of what induced them, are your fucking responsibility. Understand? So don't fucking tell me it was my fault you fell in love with me. And don't fucking come back. I know I said you can. But don't. Understand?
Because I might let you in again. And you'd hammer my fucking heart again into a hundred ugly splinters.
Let's just pretend we never knew each other and our relationship was fiction. That's right. Let's pretend it never fucking happened outside the pages of a book. It's better that way anyway.
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