It's funny how you so often told me that you needed me. I was
always there for you. But you took advantage of me. You can't
say it was my fault that I told you I was done with you. I tried
my hardest. Now you're coming back... Again... I feel bad
pushing you away, but then I just remind myself what you did to
me. It's time to turn tables and give you all the sh/t you
gave to me. Not very fun, is it?
Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even
though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely
arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.