I've written this over and over but the words never seem to justify everything you are.
They only sum up who I am.
They are bleak and full of loneliness and even if you read in between the lines you can conclude that I am nothing more than an empty space to make this ******* letter seen full.
And maybe that's the problem with me.
Maybe I'm always going to be the one who goes in between everyone's lives so they have stories to tell, but I don't have a story of my own.
I'm the fill in.
And so I suppose that's why you left me because I was useless to your story now because you met her who is smart and beautiful and has the potential to write her own masterpiece.
So go ahead and forget me because I know I was and never will be nothing more than someone to fill your sparingly lonely nights and your sparse boring days.
I know I will never be more than a waste of time.