D, I don't know if I want to be writing this. Maybe I'll regret it. Probably I will. Don't come. In february, in march, don't come. I can't do this anymore, I'm sorry. I hate to seem this weak, but this is me, I can't. I love you too much, I pray to God you'll never know just how much. And the thought of never making love to you again or listening to you sing softly breaks my heart. There are lil pieces scattered all around this keyboard, into this lines. I can't anymore. I'm sorry, I love you. I always figured I'd keep up with this until I found something better. But I never did and I reckon I never will. But still I can't, it hurts too much, bichinho. You never promissed me anything, so I'm not here to call on anything you ever said or done. I have no anger, hate or regret. Just a crushing sadness that will linger. I wish I could go on, but I can't, I wish I was stronger, but I'm not. You never taught me how to not need you, lief. I have to try to learn. "You're right from your side, I'm right from mine. We're both just one too many mornings An' a thousand miles behind." beijos meu amor,

J.