there are so many things that could be said.

Specifically, there are so many things that have been said. There has been so much dialogue between us. I remember each word said about you, to you, with you, against you.There are things that you know, and I don't; things that I wish I could scream at you, instead of smiling blandly. There are so many things I can never say.

Maybe not for you. But for me.

I told you, words mean everything to me. It is so strange that they seem to mean nothing to no one. Without words, I am nothing. That is why I mean so little to my so-called friends, to you.  

It is so hard to pretend like we are perfect strangers. Is that all we are? It seems like such a waste. When what has been said has been said, how can we go back to something so banal?

I do not like being in love. It has never given me a moment of joy. I am the most useless at gambling, at playing. If I could I would turn it off, just for a little while, and let myself get on with my life. I know people think that I am aiming too high, but the truth is, I am not aiming. I know you are too high, and if this were a rational, reasoned decision none of this would ever happen. I never intend any of this bullshit to happen; it just does. I wish I could be indifferent to you. I am indifferent to so many others, so many others who have been much kinder to me than you have been.

In eight months you and I will go our separate ways. I have spent half my childhood in a university, and I know just how big it is. I'll lose myself in it, and I doubt I'll see you again. There is nothing to miss about you except the little patter of my heart and the wealth of foolish things I have said and done. It is hard seeing you everywhere. You seem to be absolutely everywhere I go. It will be easier when you and I are out of sight, out of mind. Because, knowing me, it doesn't matter what you do or what you become; I am just being silly and irrational.

I was almost indifferent to you. I was almost at the point where you were nothing more than a pleasant acquaintance. You ruined that, and no amount of deleting or forgetting or whinging is going to erase that completely, not yet.

I am sure you did not mean it. You're careless, but not cruel. But you got into my bubble, and now I am in a world of hurt.