Dear Sweetheart,

Where shall I begin? You called me lame, so I explained that there were much nicer adjectives you could use on me. You know, get creative. Arrogant, conceited, immature, annoying, hypocritical, ignorant, shall I go on? I told you I wouldn't mind at all if you continued with your list. Get your frustration out, baby, because you aren't hurting me yet. You're running in circles and you're using the same words you've used time and again. I've become immune to all of this.

But don't let that spoil your fun. I'm sure you're out there, drinking with your friends on a Friday night, telling stories about how completely idiotic I am. They all think this is a silly game, and you're just reaping in the attention.

I still remember when you told me originality didn't exist anymore. You told me all the original people were the same. I told you that you wouldn't understand originality, because you've never been original in your life. Then you told me that you cheated on me, of all things - and I laughed, I actually laughed out loud. And you had called me a hypocrite.

We held hands for the first time at that birthday party. It was innocent. It was nothing to scream about. But we were feeling little jolts of electricity when our hands were linked. It makes me sick to think of it now. And I'm sorry about that, but it will never be the same, because we will never be the same. You've decided to join the ranks of my enemies in a battle that will continue for as long as I can see. I don't care, really. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. You were annoying when you were drunk anyways.

I deleted all of your messages and your text messages and your comments and msn conversations from my computer and my cell phone. You were bringing me down with you and the rest of your friends and I didn't like it. I like picnics in the park, not drinking on the street. I didn't want to become another rebellious teenager like you. You thought it was because I thought I was too good for you and your friends. But you're probably right about that as well.

You cared about me a little too much for my liking. You were there and then you weren't there and I could never tell when you would disappear in such a way. You didn't like it when I would disappear for hours at a time, though. You said you liked adventure, excitement, but you were sitting in a small apartment drinking three different kinds of alcohol and smoking marijuana or cigarettes. I was downtown, singing and living and running. I was always experiencing adventure and excitement, but you never were.

I wanted somebody who could just hangout with me - somebody who could run around downtown with me, drink hot chocolate with me, stare at the clouds with me - but you were too busy playing the perfect girlfriend. You didn't understand how much I was faking. You didn't understand that I didn't need your sweet words or you telling me how beautiful I was. All I needed was somebody who was there. Maybe somebody who wasn't caring, just like me.

My favourite part was when you accused me of cheating on you with my best friend. Please, darling, I'm not a hypocrite, nor am I an idiot. It gets even better when you said you would never believe me. It's okay though, really, because I wasn't expecting you to believe me. Because you've never believed me. Because you thought you knew me, perfectly.

And, sweetheart, you were wrong.