I need you to stop being nice to me. When you play nice, I can almost pretend that maybe, just maybe, you aren't using me. But each time you go home to her, you kill a little more of me.

At least have the decency to dash my hopes. I never expected you to be anything more than just truthful. It is not like you ever even wanted me. Maybe you savour the power you hold over me; the knowledge that you could completely devastate me, that I would keep coming back for more.

But I guess you (and all the others who precede you) just proof that there is not one of your kind who is capable of telling the truth. Maybe it is just nature for you to lie, even when there is no practical purpose.

Sure, I've heard all the lame excuses and believed each one at least a few dozen times. But I know I'm just lying to myself too. I don't really buy any of the bullshit you tell me (though, God knows, I want to). So I just pretend to. Because I don't think I could bear the reality of it; not quite yet. I'm afraid I'll see you for exactly what you are, then have to leave you because my principles cannot be compromised; and I'm not ready to do that. I'm not sure I ever will be ready. Oh but wait, I was never with you. Mea maxima culpa.

I suppose I could take the easy way out and just replace you. But experience and injury have proven to me that never works - not in the long run anyway.

So if you didn't read a single word in the paragraphs above, here's the message: stop being nice to me.

Thanks,

Me.