I wish you were a bit less protective.
Because, you see, I'd rather be beaten up a hundred times by them, hell, I'd rather be killed by them, then be ignored like this by you. Like I'm not a part of your life. Like you don't now me at all.
Maybe it's a bit selfish of me, but after all, it's a bit selfish of you too.

You see yourself like a stray dog, proud of not having a home, proud of devoting your whole life to what you think is right.
It really hurt sometimes - because you do have a home.
You told me once that the only thing what makes sense is to keep moving forward, not wasting any time looking back. That one sentence carved a hole in my chest, and it still aches everytime I think about it.

Nevermind.
I'm not sending you this letter anyway.