I'm drunk.

Not enough to pass out but...

Fairly drunk.

So I'm going to say this now, because I know if this comes without warning, you'll never forgive the words I say next.

I'm not in my right mind, no.

I'm filled to the burstings with anger, compiled upon by my regrets. But instead of taking responsibility, I want to blame you.

It's easy to blame you.

What happened to us, you said it was me.

It was always me.

You said I was "out of touch", "unattainable," and that you tried your hardest just to hear me acknowledge my feelings for you. 

You even started to act differently. Your appearance would change drastically, from bright cheery colors to compliment your smile, to coal colored hair to match the various shades of black in your closet. It seemed the more distant you claimed I'd become, the more foreign you appeared to be. 

Why?

Why did you change?

You weren't happy in the slightest, I could tell.

Your smile lines had begun to fade. Your eyes were nervous and low. The once summery glowing energy surrounding you became cold, harsh, and uninviting. 

Why?

Because of me? Because you honestly thought I wanted that?

I can't believe you, you know that?

Fiercely independent, stubborn, and opinionated you were. There wasn't a day that went by without you reminding me of that. 

You challenged me when no one else would. You grounded me when it seemed I thought I was above this realm. 

I had never been more humbled until you put me in my place. 

So why?

Why did you change that for me?

Why didn't you make it hard for me?

How could you make compromises on your own?

You should've stayed by my side, forcing me to understand it. Forcing me to see you how you deserved to be seen. 

I wasn't worth changing for and you know that. 

So why...why did you give up on me?

My revelation may have come later, but I'm having them everyday it seems like.

So you can stop this now. This awful punishment you've inflicted upon me. 

It's hurting you, I know it is, and you need to stop hurting.

I just...I need you to tell me what to do.

Because this feeling...

This burning feeling...

This aching, constant tearing feeling...

I can't take it much longer.

You blamed me. Always me.

But I say it's you. 

Right now, as this liquid courage courses through my veins, I say it's you.

Because in this moment, blaming you is more comforting than this empty glass in my hands and the remnants of the amber liquid on my tongue. 

I know I'll probably hate myself for this, as I'll have to face it with a sober mind eventually. Hell, I know for certain you're going to use this to hate me some more. 

I probably sound like the same old impatient guy at the fish market, or the nervous wreck from the art exhibit. It may seem like I haven't grown or that I've learned absoultuely nothing in your absence.

But you'd be wrong. I know what my error was, and it's etched boldly on my never ending scroll of regrets. 

I have thought about it, again and again, and I have come to the conclusion, that my greatest regret will always be going everyday without ever saying just how much I loved you.