Leave me.
1:46 p.m.

LJ,

Go away, would you?

For the love of God, just hurry up, pack your bags, drive your ass over to Waterloo and get the hell out of my life before I do something that I might regret for the rest of my life.

It's been eleven months now, almost a whole bloody year, and for ever day of that year I have tried my damndest to get the image of you out of my head, and I can't, I just can't. I can't stand it anymore, having to decide whether or not I still care, deciding that I don't, and then finding out that I've been wrong all along and that I do still care after all. You're toying with my mind, you're toying with my heart - and the worst part of it is that you don't have the slightest inkling of an idea that you are. I'm tearing myself apart trying to figure the two of us out, and you're innocent of the blood that I have shed.

Yet somehow it will be better this way, it will be better if you know nothing of the agony you put me through every minute. That way I can love you and never lose you, at least not for the last three months we have together. But I can only last so long on this thin shred of sanity that you've left me. And I definitely can't last three months. So please, leave. Get out of my life. Before I do something that I regret. Before I tell you that I love you. Before I get on my knees and beg, with a long year's worth of tears in my eyes, beg for you to stay.

- Your lady of tears

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