Wouldn't it be much better if we just break up?
A very coward move, I know. I'm a bastard of a lover and you're just another unseeming person wanting to feel loved.
It's not like you're perfect, and it's not like I'm the single most horrible person on the planet.
I guess we're too different. Opposites may attract but not all opposing traits blend well. It doesn't become whole or complete, it clashes into a mess.
But maybe not everything needs so become one. It can coexist together without bleeding into each other.
Like us. We're attracted to each other, but we might not blend well. We can still be by each other's side either way, just, not as one.
Alike water and oil, mustard yellow and beige, also you and I.
It's just empathy. It's probably just empathy.
I see him hurting, and I feel hurt too. More specifically, I feel hurt that I had hurt him.
I wasted away the tiny bit of trust he had on me. I diminished the spark we had. I shattered the rose-tinted glasses. I wanted to become his warming sun, but ended up as the one burning him down.
No matter how many times I can say sorry, no matter how many roses I can give him, and no matter the physical favors I can present to him, it just won't be the same.
I never really ask people to forgive me. Being forgiven or not, I still made them hurt. I also hurt because of that, and I hurt even more because of the fact that I'm so selfish that I get hurt because I made other people hurt. I always make it about me.
What a horrible person I am.
I should be gone for good, but that wouldn't undo the pain and burden I had inflicted on others. I should live on in agony and suffering so that I would feel as hurt as they were.
But that would be selfish.
What if other people notice it? What if people notice that I live in constant self-hatred and self-harm that they start to get concerned? Wait, that's asking for too much.
I can't help it, I'm just another selfish being. Writing this also makes me selfish. I'm typing this like I'm the most miserable person on earth, right?
Honestly, I sometimes contemplate on my actions to an unnecessary point.
What if I never said 'yes'? Maybe I should've just waited longer.
It's normal, though. Everyone does that. They, too, want to end the pain by drowning in their own blood rather than in guilt. They'll feel like the most miserable person in the whole world and regret it the next day. They were just caught up in the moment.
They'll regret throwing away old things, cutting their wrists open, macrodosing those pills, chugging down that bottle of bitterness that taste sweeter than their suffering.
They'll only end up as addicts. Adding up to their pain with every pill they take, with every slit from that cutter, and with every drop of body fluids they excrete in whatever way.
I am merely another one of them. I am not in any way better or worse. I am just another number in the statistics.