You’ve tried. I’ve tried. We’ve tried. I still have to apologize, though, for getting you here in the first place. For not letting you choose. For not giving you any choice, either. As we could see this is not exactly what we’ve been dreaming about.
We don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve pain. You don’t deserve numbness and oblivion and nothingness. And I am terribly sorry for dragging you. I know that this is bound to happen because there will always be someone who is smarter, dresses prettier, laughs softer, write better, and love better than me. This is no contest, but I am invested in it with every prick of pain possible and I still will only end up as your n-th best.
I am sorry. I am sorry. Everything will turn out bitter in the end, you see. I will once again be brokenhearted and I will wail about it and it will be the kind of pain which is subtle but lasts. You will once again being hopeless and not being able to do anything.
So. Me getting away right now. Sounds like a wise choice?
I am already attached albeit what you feel. But this, I can promise you: I will get over with heartbreaks.
(I will get over the feeling of unloved—
and always, always the n-th best, the latest choice.
…because I don’t know how to love you better. All I know is I’ve loved you longer.)