I think I've hated myself enough. You’ve grown
callous and indifferent, and I’ve seen how you treated my sadness as some kind
of a joke—as if I really deserved to feel this melancholic because I started
the fire that incinerated everything that we’ve built. I don’t feel the
sincerity in your words anymore—you’re becoming a total different person who’s heading to a total different direction. It’s just sad to realize that I've let myself get stuck
in this spot for months now, and the only things that make me feel alive are pain,
tears and some self-inflicted wounds.
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