A letter without a beginning or an end:
For all the hundreds of back rubs I gave you and was never offered any affection in return, for all the nights I spent alone crying about my father because you weren't there for me, for all the times I had to ask to see you once a week and you expressed reluctance, for the walk I went on with you and the hot chocolate I drank with you just so the breakup would take longer than 30 minutes when it was obvious you were done and just wanted to leave - for all this and more, I feel like such a fool.
You wouldn't tell me why you stopped loving me. Is it because you think I'm unambitious? Will you still feel that way when my novel comes out in the spring? Alright, that's a lie - but it will happen one spring, or summer, or fall, or winter. Maybe it will happen soon as I seem to write more and better when I feel unhappy; after a year mourning my father and now a year to mourn you, I am more than sad enough.
I wish you would have explained what makes me such a permanently undesirable mate for you - what prompted you to say that I wasn't enough, that even if you never found anyone else that would make you happier, you'd rather be alone than get back together with me.
So after six years together, we are now single. If you miss me, though you said you never do, ...
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