Nobody thrills me quite like you, although I know your novelty will wear off, it always will do.

I think I have found myself trapped between the exit doors of the unknown future and my well-known past. I'm sure you wouldn't like to live on in my memory as a stain, a blemish on the surface of my already dim life. Perhaps this is deserved, perhaps you were only ever meant to be a phase. But my misery must always overdramatise, always ensure I make it out the other end torn up and exhausted with doom.

Too dramatic, too dim.

 "I don't blame you."