I'd say that if I were a strong enough person.
But the truth of the matter is that I'm not. Not anymore, anyway. I haven't been in years, and I'll admit that I fashioned my own downfall.
Cutting an addiction cold turkey is fast, but ineffective if you don't have the willpower. Somewhere along the line, I grew addicted to you. Technically, it was the dopamine rush I came to associate with you, but it's an addiction nonetheless. I need you, I really do, but it kind of went from a platonic need to a sick kind of dependency. But you understood, you always understood, and I ended up just expecting that from you. Even now, you're still important to me, and I knew that I never was. You never told me that you cared about me unless I explicitly asked you, after all.
616 days later, it's the third strike.
It feels almost like a waste, but I knew from the beginning that it was futile. It was my own fault for letting it go out of control like this and letting myself live in my own delusions like this.
293 days since I realized I was in love with you.
293 days of missed chances. And I know, yesterday was my last chance to say it, and I chose not to.
But it's fine now. I've finally learned how to let go.
Maybe I'll regret this later, but this is just another hurdle for me to jump in order to grow up. And this is the only way I know how.
So, I guess this is goodbye.