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I got up from bed to write about how tired I am of continually making allowances for you, giving you the benefit of the doubt, saving you from things that might make you feel guilty or hurt, always putting you first. How angry, pained and rejected your distance and coldness has made me feel…

But to even think of you reading it, sitting on a computer far away, to think of you getting unhappy as you read it, makes me feel awful. I can’t do that to you.

I’m a fool. If you want to know what a fool looks like, take a look at me.