i'd do it to you like you'd do it to me if i knew you would get away fine

Dear Aston,
You have been sent from Hell.
You are, straight up, no good for me.
There's a reason this is my song for you.
I can't take the way you make me feel. I can't take the things you say to me, the things you don't. There's a multitude of things you could call me-- call me silly, call me cynical, call me hopeless, call me crazy; you cannot call me stupid.
I let you in and you shut me out. Is there even a door to you?
I want to scream at you. I don't know what the fuck would come out of my mouth, but I want you to hear me scream in your face. I'd probably end up saying everything I said last night, drunk out of my mind and hugging the toilet. I'd say all those things again and more.
I told you I don't remember. That's a goddamn lie, I remember it all. I'm sorry I cried but I couldn't help it. I'm sorry I told you how I really feel but I didn't know when else to say it. I'm sorry you think my perspective is harsh but I don't know what else to think-- we're not going to grow old together and I'm not going to pretend otherwise; that doesn't mean I don't care about you far more than I'd like.
I'm sorry I told you so much, but you asked. You rubbed my back as I puked my guts out and asked why I cut myself. I'm sorry I told you.
You said you wished you could get me to stop. I said you're a fucking moron.
I want to scream in your fucking face.
I think I should stop seeing you. There is no positive coming from this, it's only feeding my undying need for quarter-life crises. Cate was right: this is a bad time of year for me. She was wrong about one thing though; it's not that I don't know how to be happy or that I don't think I deserve it, it's just boring. Being happy and having peace are not in my nature.
You're digging that hole in my chest deeper and deeper. I can feel it.
It hurts.
I want to tell you to meet me at the tea house in an hour, your screen name says you're online, but what good would it do? I'd probably end up screaming in your face like I'm dying to.
The truth is I don't want you to call her. I don't want you to think she's cute. I don't want you to fuck her. I know I'm not the jealous type and I know I'm being a hypocrite, but I don't want you to call her. I've never been jealous in my life, this is a first for me. I don't know what it is about you or about her-- this nameless girl I've never seen-- but I don't want you to see her.
I remember what you said. You said I was perfect for you in almost every way, that I am what you want. I'm sorry I told you that you're wrong for me; you are, you really are. You are not what I want in the long run, you're just what I want right now. I didn't mean to give the impression that I don't want you. I just want you to know that we have no future.
I don't think that means we shouldn't keep going.
This is going to hurt like hell later, but I think we should keep going.
I should probably stop seeing you right now. I should click on your screen name and tell you to delete my number out of your phone.
I'd rather die.
I'd arrest you if I had handcuffs.
I'd arrest you if I had the time.

I'm hurting.

--Me.