I stop before I start. The words, special ones that will make you understand, won’t come. They’re hiding, just like I am now. 

I drink, not for liquid courage but to dissolve my chagrin. It’s working, but the side effects are regret and anguish at choices I made in happier times. 

It’s too hard loving you so fully and being shunned so subtly. 

The telltale signs are the rising panic in my chest and that funny, irritable feeling in my nose before the tears come and I know you can’t ever love me, the way I love you. 

And I can’t help to think what a fool I am.

I am taking a permanent break from you and no, I don’t wish you well. 

I wish me renewed insight and resilience to cope with another heartache/break. 

I know I can feel better and hope that it will be one day sooner than if I’d never wished for it at all.