Dear Old Friend,
I know you must feel some sort of hatred for me since I have abandoned you. A part of me is guilt ridden for choosing love over friendship, and another part of me has come to peace with it, because there were a multitude of reasons why, not that alone.
I was given a chance to start anew, life had become stagnant, I was set in my ways, but I no longer received any gratification from them. You are also set in your ways, and I was so tired of your misery. After all you like it that way. You like to complain, you like to fret, you like to say you dislike things like music and movies (of which isn’t entirely true). You can’t be happy because you refuse to change your ways. And you don’t mind that as much as you say because your comfortable there. I’ve been there, but after a short while I got tired of wallowing in my self pity, it’s just not cute sweetie, and it’s no longer excusable once you graduate from adolescence. No one could dig me out of my own self dug grave but me, most certainly never you. You watched from the sidelines and talked smack. And wow what a good friend you were, as you always proclaimed. As you always judged, as I threw em back, and in the end you did the same as I sobered up.
And I’m more sober than ever, and I want to live. Your alive but act half dead; where is the spirit in just living, experiencing? You wait for something that will never come until you put your foot out the door of which you cower in fear. For many years, I held your hand, for I feel other peoples emotions when I’m with them, and genuinely care, but like a physic vampire you have always hooked onto my throat chakra and fed off the energy, leaving none for me. And someone came along of whom could nurture and re-vitualize me. I could become strong, and we could fed off one another’s energy. I don’t have to be with people who suck the life out of me and give nothing in return! It’s fucking exhausting and I’m tired of being a fucking martyr. So be it, you can be miserable, you can hate me, you can run your mouth and talk shit or spill my secrets, you can’t really hurt me. I am sorry though that it had to be this way, and that I hurt you. You were also hurting me, and I can’t have that.