It would be pathetic for me to think that I have caused the trouble you have with breathing, or the red spots in your skin that have appeared one morning. I have never infected you as much as you have infected me, you see. And this attempt to write about you again? No, I won't give in. Because you don't deserve everything I wrote, you asshole - you and your goddamn infatuation to yourself. You belong somewhere else, not near me. I hope you grow. But that's asking for the impossible.
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