After a year. A whole year of caring for you, of feeling hurt when you didn’t care. A year of calling my friends when you rejected me, of forcibly casting you out of my memory, of failing to do so, of painful nostaglia when I uncovered a forgotten artifact of us.

I don’t love you anymore.

Maybe this is premature. But right now, I could care less what happened to you. I could throw away the CD you burned me for Christmas, and wrote “Merry X-mas =)” on,  without regret. I could pick up your call and tell you I’m too busy to talk to you because I have better things to do.

Remember I was trying to chronicle all my memories of you on my blog, so that I could finally forget about you without losing you forever?  Now, I don’t have any inclination to finish that project. You are a memory not even worth preserving, not even subconsciously.

I thought I loved you, or maybe it was a ghost of you. In all my brooding over my loss of you, I didn’t realize how much you had changed from the person I fell in love with at 16. When did you become so self-centered, incapable of caring about another person’s feelings? When did you lose perspective about the important things in the world? Why do you demand the world to change around you, when you are too stubborn to change for others? How could I ever have thought that the you I was in love with would return to me?

I am emotionally numb. I do not feel angry at you for hurting me to this point. I do not feel hurt because of what you did. I do not feel happy because I am finally liberated from this debilitating relationship. If anything, I feel sad, for you. Sad that that you who I loved is gone. I would say I hope you realize and change, but that would be a lie because (and I realize how incredibly selfish this is, but) I honestly don’t care if you live the rest of your life this way, and because I’m not hopeful; in fact, I’m rather dubious.