I don't know why I still talk you you. Not because of the pain you put me through, I don't mind that.

I seriously just think that you might be so much happier and better off without me. You have told me so.

I don't know why I keep putting you through hell. But then again I do. Because I can't not talk to you. It's an addiction, a spell, a bondage that can never be broken because I that would require me breaking my own heart, but possibly mending yours. Maybe I could, if you asked me to. And you have. But we always end up going back. And I don't know what to do with this downward spiral we are on, lifting us up, dragging us down underneath the raging waves of anger and hurt and fear, tearing us apart feeling by feeling, night by night, word by word, and casting the pieces of our still bleeding pulsing warm hearts into the abyss of loneliness, unretrievable and forever scarred. Never to be the same.

So ask me to leave you alone, and that's what I'll do. For you.