I loved you, in ways I still reminisce about. I fell in love with the idea of you, but some parts felt so real that I can’t separate fact from fiction. That’s what I’m most jealous of.. you know what was real and what was fake. I wish I had met you at another time or in another way or I could have trusted you at least. But it’s all some pathetic poem. I thirst for it on days when reality is tough but I’ll always take what is over whatever fake daydream you were selling. You were just a con man and I’ll never forgive you for that. I was selfish too but I never lied. I knew what I was getting into but not at the same time. I wish I had listened to myself at then onset. To whatever is and wasn’t, ciao.