I could say “it’s not you, it’s me,” but that would be the biggest lie I’ve told since I promised the British they wouldn’t get shot at if they showed up by sea. It is you. It’s 100 percent you.
But it wasn’t always you. Things started off so well between us; you were so novel, so beautiful, so calming and clean when we met. Remember how exciting it was when I shut down for the first time, and we skipped school and work, and frolicked through my streets together? The way you made me feel so pretty, so refreshed, and seasonal?
I’ll never forget those wonderful first days. But that was the early stage of the relationship; now you’re dirty all the time, you never clean up after yourself, and you’ve grown even colder.
At this point, I’m just feeling…well, smothered. You won’t leave me alone. I tell you I need space and you just keep showing up. How do you not see that by always hanging around, you’re making me turn inward? I don’t even leave the house anymore because I know you’ll be waiting outside my door.
Even if you were to back off immediately, we’d still be totally over. I’m literally up to my neck in dealing with the mess you made. Because of you, I may need to borrow equipment from New York City.
Do you know how embarrassing that is? Those guys already think of me as their inadequate little sister, and now I have to go to them with my gold-domed hat in hand and ask for help?
It’s like you’ve turned into this unstoppable monster. I don’t even know you anymore. You’ve also ruined a lot of my stuff; I can’t find like five-thousand of my cars, my bikes are all buried for the foreseeable future, and you’ve killed every single plant I had.
Also, now is probably a good time to tell you I’ve met someone. His name is Spring, and while it’s long distance right now, he’ll be moving in hopefully sometime around March or April.
Maybe next winter we can be friends again. But until then, please lose my address.