I just dreamt that you never loved me. That I was engulfed in things I could not stand, and for the life of me, I found them unpleasant.

You told me that the way I had acted when I was attacked had turned you off. You wrote it on a note with recipes. I could not stand you in that moment because it wasn't you. You were drunk. I know how this goes.

All of this is a dream. Everything I had just imagined was a facade. My soul is distraught though, by my recreation of our friendship. I know I am hard to love. I know I'm not as beautiful as that girl you talked to yesterday. I know.  

I can't carry these feelings I have for you anymore. They are a burdon in themselves because I can not have you, and I really would love you.