If there's anything that I want to tell you, it's this: I'm sorry if I chose not to be with you. But, after what you've done, I feel like I have never been this happy in my life for having made that choice.
i am dull. i laugh at my own jokes. i have insatiable insecurities toward almost everybody for having almost everything. yes, dude, insecurity. that’s one of the few things i have. i feed on self conceit. i fear almost everything. i try hard. i have this impulse that stops me from using my brain (if i really have one) properly. i am unreasonably kind. i easily give trust, yes, even to strangers. i love to start sentences with pronouns, especially on a first person basis. i am a horrible writer. i suck at making criticisms. i cannot even polish my grammar. my memory of the significant past is constantly deteriorating. the parcel of intellect that i have left is continuously diminishing. i’m sorry, i’m plain negative. i need a psychologist. i think i’m paranoid. there are weird voices in my head. i’m always famished. my thoughts are unorganized. i write too slowly. my penmanship is horrible. i suck at computer games.as always there’s a “but” at the middle of it all. i’d rather not specify what follows.