How hard can it be to sit there and act like you're just friends? Not too hard, right? Wrong. It's really fucking hard.

To sit here and act like I'm not engrossed in every word you say, to sit here and laugh as you make jokes about previous partners, to wish I was in their shoes for every second they knew you, that's hard.

Sometimes I wonder why I put my self through it. Sometimes, I wonder why I bother staying with you when I know I'll feel terrible when you leave. And you will leave, it's unavoidable; it always has been.

Sometimes I sit and ask myself why the fuck I let you rule my head, then I realise, you don't even know you're doing it.

This is it. This is the last time I will ache for you. This is the last time I can break myself apart for you. And now, I would like to say, if only to put my mind at ease, I did love you. I spent the last of my moments in human company with you.

I'm standing on the edge and ready to jump. I'm hanging by a thread with no one to save me. There's a gun by my head and you're ready to pull the trigger.

This is it. How many more metaphors are there to explain what you are to me? You're my world. You're the reason I live and now you'll be the reason I'll die.

I'll never tell you this of course. I want you to be happy and I suppose this is the only way I can make the dream I've dreamt almost every day for far too long a reality.

I want you to grieve for the shortest amount of time possible before moving on with what is inevitably your true path. I want you to never know the reason behind this so called suicide. I want you to live happily, for a long time. Unfortunately, I cannot stay and see you held in the arms of someone else.

Live long.

Live happy.

Live forever like you wish you could.