I have said all that I could say and you still don't understand. This rattles me to the bone because you should understand pristinely. You have done this to me before. It's your turn to suck it up. I've been drinking your toxin all this time, letting it waste me, and you can't even once take a gander at it.
Not a slight gasp of sorrow should retreat from within my lungs, you don't deserve the sounds of my turmoil. It doesn't matter at this point whether or not you hold on. I cannot do this anymore. I've cut the old frayed rope myself and I'm off into the hazy midst of my long lost sea again. My sails have cried for the wind for some time now. It isn't easy to tell you. I'll meet you at the wharf someday, once more to fly a kite or just sit on the molding bench at the edge of the green water, I promise, but for now I can no longer deny the call. I've got incandescent, silver-haired mermaids to be enchanted by, cheeky drunk pirates to feed to crocodiles, and brilliant, unfathomable, shining treasures to uncover.
And I can't do it with you anchoring me to the coldest depths of grief. I never understood why you chose to live without light or warmth or joy, the way you do. You say, sadly, that I am your only glimpse of light. But it's far beyond true, love. It is true that melancholy knows how to wind its way in and around people, horrifically, but there is so much light in the world too. You simply shut it out for reasons I cannot measure. You behave victimised and tortured, but you swallowd the key to your own chackles... The ones that you bought with the love I gave you for the counterfeit smiles you threw my way. I will probably miss you soon, but I can't let you keep me anymore. This has long since stopped being a good thing. I can't live this way.
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