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I'm not sure how to start this.

I'm sorry? I don't know.

I didn't want to do this through letter, but I would never have been able to say goodbye in person.

Plus I could never justify myself in person, so I'll try now.

Look,

I've fallen out of love with the one person I am meant to love the most and,

As bad as it sounds,

I am finding it hard to justify continuing on this path.

I would rather be a free man, with my humanity, that a slave to the whimful emotions of a discontented opportunist. 

This isn't rash, it's logical.

I swear.

My nights have been plagued familiarising myself with my bedroom ceiling through blurry eyes,

Indifferent to the idea of it collapsing onto me.

That way I would have an easy escape route. But we make our own destinies,

Right?

Please do not get me wrong, I am not pointing fault.

I have so many thoughts in my head and I've tried speaking out, but my words have fallen on deaf ears.

Or maybe my tongue is weighed by cowardice.

I'm not sure. 

I am hoping that vomiting these words onto paper will enlighten me,

As it is the last act of a sick body.

Except getting better isn't an option anymore.

My heart holds so much love

but it just beats too fast for my liking.

My rise and fall was when I really went searching and I saw that person stare back at me.

I really wished I could love them

But trying to force something causes a greater disparage,

A deeper chasm.

One I have searched the depths of, only to find

Ridiculous precedence of every other.

I spent decades staring back at this person, and I saw them so clearly!

We grew in sync, it was unprecedented.

I loved them, but more out of obligation, necessity.

But feigned emotion only holds so strong and

Their face warped into one I did not know anymore,

Did not care to know.

Their words were ones I did not know them to speak

And their actions

so false

so staged.

It was remiss of me not to end it then and there

But it would never have struck me.

I still loved them.

Now I am disgusted.

Bile rises at the back of my throat,

Begging to be purged through an orifice

That has borne words far more unclean.

I do not think I am scared,

Just apprehensive of the pain that will come. 

Glorify not, these words, in poor taste

But take them for what they are.

A respect.

I write now to bid goodbye, under some pretence of obligation. 

The last farcical act I will perform under this heavy conscience.

I will not peer into my loved's eyes again,

But avert my eyes once more.

Hopefully my hands have done the talking.

Farewell.