Oh, dear, don't you know by now that I love you? You may not feel the same way, but I'm past caring anymore. The thing is, we were made for each other. I do not believe this; no, I know this to be true. It's like I said before-- my yearning for you has become so commonplace that I can slip into it easily and without thought, like a second skin.
Right now, the knowledge that I hurt you is searing in my stomach. I want to dissolve in a puddle of tears, or better yet, be with you, and tell you that I didn't mean it. How could I?
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