If I said how I really felt, I hope you would cry.
I hope that the raising of my vocal cords would hit you in every part of your abdomen and it would make you feel so sick with yourself you would suddenly want to throw up across the carpet.
I hope that my words would strike you so hard, relentlessly, that a lump in your throat would develop and you'd have to force yourself to hold back tears that would begin to glisten in your eyes.
I hope that you would physically be able to feel the weight of guilt on your shoulders, the same way Atlas carried the weight of the world.
I hope everything I would tell you would creep it's way to the deepest corners of your mind like a parasite and consume you from the inside out, eating you away slowly so you would feel a constant discomfort.
I hope you would feel the agonizing, mental pain I do every time I think of everything that went wrong and I hope you feel remorse.

But see, I could never say how I felt. I could never raise my voice at you and shake your shoulders as my eyes tried to unlock some sort of culpability in your soul; A realization of how much it hurts.
You will never know what it feels like, but I wish you did.
I wish you did.
Because if it finally just hit you, then you would know how it felt when what had happened hit me.
If it finally just hit you, I'd never have to fantasize what it would be like to make you cry when I told you how I really felt.

And just like that a rotation in my universe occurred. A coruscation, that blinded for a split second. In that one moment, everything altered. And let me tell you, it really does blow my mind at how quickly everything you knew can crumble in your grasp. I find myself searching, wondering for a single elucidation of how any of the pieces that once were one, could fall away just like that. I find myself mourning the loss of what once was some magnificent thing, now nothing. And I don't know why it's falling apart. Maybe it never really was built with a solid foundation like it was believed to have been. Maybe its importance wasn't realized till it all shattered in front of everyone. Maybe it was never even intended to stay. Maybe it was just a fleeting thing that was always meant to fall apart. Maybe there isn't some divine purpose behind it. Maybe it's just people, being people. And maybe I'll never really know where it went wrong.

There was always this unsaid difference between us that I felt so strongly, although you were probably never aware of it.
You were always praised and complimented for your achievements. From day one, this bright light showered your existence. The spotlight was yours, you owned center stage.
I was always left in the darkest corner.
Occasionally the light from you would creep closer to me and a glimpse of me would be shown, but they didn't intend on me being in the spotlight. I was someone who was meant to be kept in the dark, someone who had more care put towards them, but only so that I would remain hidden. But, I don't think they meant it that way.
I don't think they intended to constrain me to a point where I began to dream about how it would be when I finally left. I don't think they meant to choke my vocal cords with their own. I don't think they meant it. But there has always been this unsaid difference between you and I. And I have simply lost the right words to express exactly what I mean.

I know it's been a while, forgive me for not writing you back.
     Do you recall the project I did a while back ago? The sculpture I had told you about? I have to confess to you that there never was one. You see, it was always just a metaphor of sorts.
     My metaphorical sculpture was of a face, that much is true. The face specifically, happened to be yours. I worked on it for months, smoothening your features, adding smile lines, working on the dimension of your eyes. Months I spent trying to mold you into an idealistic form for you to stay in. About three months ago I finished it and oh, it was perfect. I so accurately depicted the most wonderful image of you.
     Recently, however, I have begun to revisit the sculpture and look it over after our last face–to–face encounter. I began to notice so many things wrong in it, but it wasn't a flaw in my work. The work was still perfect, but the sculpture no longer matched your description. I know none of this may make sense to you, but just keep listening.
     As I looked at it closer, a thought occurred to me: You cannot make the wrong person into the right person. You cannot convey a person as someone they're not. I suppose this has been my mistake all along and I apologize for just now figuring it out. I've spent months attempting to conform you into what I thought you should be. I wanted you to be what you never were without telling you. I never was in love with the You you were in the natural, I had only ever been in love with the You I had made you to be. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the time I spent trying to convince myself we were right when we were never intended to be.
     In the time we haven't talked due to my abrupt silence, I had done a lot of thinking and my thoughts had led me to the decision to destroy the sculpture, because I needed to stop romanticizing the sculpture and getting lost in the blurred lines of you and my creation. You wouldn't believe what happened though. The moment I raised the sculpture in the air to smash it, I saw someone through the window who was the mirror image of the sculpture. I ran down to catch up to him and we have continued to talk since.
     I have now concluded that you can't make someone into who you want them to be, but if you're lucky, that eventually the people who fit your criteria come when you don't expect.
     I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I think I've finally figured out why we were always so toxic for one another. Now I don't feel like I have to manipulate or conform myself or someone to certain ideals and I don't have to deal with the emotional baggage you inflicted. I'm free. And so are you.

So I guess this is goodbye. I wish you the best, because I think I've finally found a muse for the time being.