Read this letter closely, it's the last I'll write for you. (I hope) I've had to find a way to convince myself I hate you, so that I could get myself through today. I hope you won't take too much offense.

Do you remember that quotation? The one that said "Hate isn't the opposite of love, apathy is." I forget now who said it, but it's not really important. Right now I don't think your hate could have hurt me more than this realization of the reality of your apathy towards me. When I told you how I felt my heart beat so wildly I thought I might faint. I had to rehearse what I was going to say. . . . you, well, you said you understood as if it were as easy as an arithmetic problem.

It's a very noble idea - loving someone whether or not you get anything in return. I thought that if I was only there enough, if only you understood just how much I cared, you'd care back. If I just loved you long enough, maybe . . . My love wasn't making the world better for either of us, though. You didn't notice it, and it only hurt me. Nobility only lasts so long.

And so, miraculously, I've found some way to let myself let you go. I'll not trust so willingly next time I'm given the chance, and I won't begin to love until I'm sure of what it is I'm loving. You've taught me to check the ground and look carefully around before dancing. Thank you for teaching me things I wish I'd never known.

I don't feel much anymore. I'm not sure if I've healed or just become numb. I continue to believe that you wouldn't have acted as you did if you honestly could understand. (still, I thought you might have tried) I know that you didn't hurt me on purpose, and it was partly my fault for loveing you in spite of everything. I'm so sorry if my selfishness has hurt you.

Love always,