In a few minutes, the sun will be setting. I'll stay here and watch how the colors change.

A cool wave washes my bloodied hands and I'm reminded of one of the discussions we had. The water always reminded me of you. I think about the time you told me you'll always have my back. Thinking about it now, I guess I should have asked you whether or not you were sure about it because I know how extremely troublesome (and sometimes shitty) I can be. Showing how I really am isn't really something I do around people. But when I'm with you, I let my guard down. I trusted you.

I'm emotional and moody. I get upset over little things and sometimes, my temper is shorter than my manicured nails that I flip my shit quicker than I can shoot my Crosshairs—and you know how quick that is. I should have asked you if you were sure you wanted to be my friend. I should have asked you if you could handle being with me. I know I should have but I chose not to. I didn't ask because at that time, I was sure you wouldn't mind. At that time, I thought I didn't need to because I was sure that I could trust and count on you. That you'll always be there for me no matter how bad shit got. I was confident. I regret it.

Now, tell me. Exactly how wrong was I?

Apparently you found someone else now. Someone much less of a bother and much less emotional, whose moods never swayed dangerously like mine did. Stable, unlike me. Someone much more interesting and funny and capable and cool. Effortlessly. Unlike me, who tries far too hard—far too hard to put up an unshakable front, to seem cool and undeterred by anything, that at times make me seem cold and distant and sometimes heartless—which makes me hate myself more.

I can perfectly understand why you'd prefer to be with that new friend of yours. It makes everything so much easier for you. I know you never really liked dealing with things too complicated, that you'd rather live where things are bright and beautiful 24/7. I hate to break it to you, but things can't always be like that. Sooner or later you have to learn how harsh the world can be.

I guess it's my fault, too, since I just started distancing myself from you. And that I sort pushed you away with my indifference and lack of interest. I constantly looked back, though. To check if you'd do anything about it. You didn't. And it broke me.

I don't exactly matter anymore, do I? Come to think of it, I'm not even sure if I even mattered anymore.

I've been told that I have separation anxiety. And I know for a fact that you have separation anxiety, too. The only difference between us is that you're pretty blatant about it, whereas I keep quiet about it. Sure, they have reasons, some because of need, some to protect me, but it doesn't change the fact that they do leave. The first friend I made left before I even realized what happened. Now you'll be leaving me, too.

I won't question your decision. I don't think I can, when I can perfectly see your reasons. I can be sad about it though. I can think so much about it that I can maybe even cry about it once or twice or every night. But if this is what will make you happy, then hey, by all means, go. I want you to be happy. After all, all we ever had was just years of being aware of each other's existence. There weren't really any significant interactions between us until recently, so I suppose you can just scrap all that. I'm sure it wouldn't be that hard.

The sky's transition from blue to orange is really pretty. I'm sure you'll like the colors. I can even make out an alchemiter from the clouds. And I've completely lost the feeling in my legs.

I still tried to smile a little in the nearly insignificant moments you bother yourself to try talking to me. The moment you turn away, though, I'd need to bite my tongue to keep any of the emotions from seeping. I'm getting used to it, though. Little by little. It doesn't bother me as much anymore. I'm mapping my progress now.

Come to think of it, I never really got around to telling you the most important thing. I resigned to just ignore it at first, but it sort of just grew on me. I thought that if I just keep it in a bottle and cap it tight then sooner or later, it'll run out of oxygen and die out. But things don't always go as planned, do they?

I like to think that I'll get over you soon. Maybe.

It's gotten colder now. The water's drenching the insignia on my shirt now and I can feel my scarf brushing against my face. I can barely feel my hands now but I can tell the Crosshairs are slipping from my grip. I can't feel anything anymore. Except that I feel helpless.

Aren't sunsets supposed to end with some deep blue colors? I guess today's a little different because all I'm seeing is white.