You bring out the natural and inherent nasty in me, which needs release. You help me with that because we are viciously different and we don’t know how to understand or accept each other. But my nastiness and my brilliance are not in you, you only helped me see them in myself for a short time. I know myself better because of you.
You have the innermost workings of my mind already, why also try to take my heart? Please be fair my darling, and see it as it really is. We needed each other for a time but we can’t keep on with the habit of such needing, to feed each other like an addiction. It is greedy and far too emotionally uncivilized and unwise for where we’ve both been.
What is this thing we called love anyways? Making another person miserable unknowingly? Or knowingly but enjoying how good it feels to be desperately wanted by another? What makes us equate misery with love, an addiction to suffering? That’s what I’ve been trying to dispel in myself, not a desire for more things or less things, for hot or cold weather, work or play, for extravagant love. It is not suffering I am trying to prevent, it is my need to have it to feel tormented enough by life to be excited by it.
We can be free of each other and savor the morsel of misery that our past together brings us every once in a while by listening to some wretched song or reading Love in the Time of Cholera. It doesn’t need constant air. Instead, know that you have a piece of me and I of you and there it stops, though traces of smoke will always remain. I shall never cease wanting to fuck you inside out and upside down.
You have nothing to give me but words and weak attempts to contact me. You won’t let me give you what I need to give so I will keep it for myself. I guess that means you gave me much more simply by not loving me. So thank you for rejecting me. Now release me. Let me go and live my life.