I'm dying, Sam. I look at you, and it kills me a little more every time, because I know you're leaving me. But you get so happy when you talk about it, and you smile, and your whole face lights up, and I thought I was the only thing in the world that could make you feel that way, but I'm not, and it breaks my heart, but I pretend to be happy for you, because that's what you need. You need me to keep pretending it's not tearing me apart, and you need to keep pretending to believe me. This isn't the right kind of life for you. You're too good for all of this, and I should be so fucking happy for you, Sammy, so happy you're getting out, but I'm not, because I'm selfish, and I can't fucking stand the thought of living without you. I don't know who I am by myself. And I thought you didn't, either, and I should be glad you do, because this codependency is sick, but I'm not, because I'm still too fucking selfish, and I hate you for leaving me, and I hate myself for hating you, and I could never really hate you, Sammy. I love you. And I'm sorry I couldn't give you enough. I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry.