I don't know how I feel about you.
It hurts how it doesn't hurt anymore to talk about you...actually it does kinda hurt, I guess. But I'm okay with talking about you now, I don't feel like I'm going to break down soon or something.
I don't like you anymore. I don't love you anymore. You're probably relieved, since I nagged you for so long. I'm sorry about that, okay? Just know that it's been long since I've already realized that it wasn't you that I wanted back; it was the idea of you that I had, the perfect fantasy I created around your name and your face. The one I'd adored for a year. It's been a little more than exactly a year since I saw you for the last time.
Hey, just -- I don't know.
For some things you said to me, I'm really mad at you.
When I said I'm sorry, I wasn't really sorry. I just wanted a reason to talk to you and I couldn't think about anything else. No, I was sorry when I wrote that long long long thing. But the last time I talked to you, I wasn't sorry.
You're on the other side of the Pacific. I hope you do well on your midterms. I'm on summer vacation. I remember your mom saying she envies how I always read and you never do. Of course, that was before she found out.
You never told me exactly how they found out and exactly why we broke up. Do me a favor and give me a detailed explanation. That'll make me feel better.
I don't love you. I don't love you.
I don't think you ever loved me. Tell me you did.
I don't love you anymore.
But I really did.
