It's become clear for some time now that I am not well. I keep trying to track down the moment I began feeling like this, in the hope that somehow I can make it disappear. So far, I've failed. First, I thought it might have been a few weeks ago. The day I realised you'd do exactly what I've always imagined you would. I wrote about it. I'm not sure you read it. It was the book I sent you, in which I pictured you as king who would soon enough find out he could not have everything.
But then, I realised it could not have been that particular moment, for I was sad longer before that. Maybe it was when you left me. You walked throught that door and I never saw you again. There wasn't a single time after you'd call me. You'd erased me completely. All my efforts were in vain. You'd not come back, and so you didn't. I don't know how long we'd been apart before that miserable day. Sometimes I think we were never together. So maybe my sadness came to be in the day we met, as you were never really available to me. I can remember all the moments you rejected me, one by one, and each one seems to rip me up harder than the other.
Or perhaps that's not really fair of me, in that I remember I was desperately looking for something to look forward to. I mustn't have been so well before that bitter sweet november. Was it then when I first fell in love? Or has love nothing to do with my pain? Was it me? Was it on the day I decided to give it all up just in order to have a chance? I was so small and the world seemed so large. So I stood before it and screamed loud and clear that I would not let it go.