We talked after about a year. You’ve been so distant I almost didn’t recognise your voice. You were drunk. You’ve carried on with your life which is great. You’re doing so good even got yourself a boyfriend. I’m glad for you, I really am. And I can’t help but feeling hopelessly in love with you. Now I’m sitting here, drinking tea and watching reruns of House while thinking of you because you passed out while we were talking. I wish I didn’t love you, but I can’t help it.
I don’t know how this will end, and it is killing me. You keep getting back to me time after time saying how you miss me. I wish you well, always.