iv. Another letter, that I found one day on the bed.

Dear Patrick,

I don't know how to put this. I thought if I put it in a note I'd have the time to slow down and think it through, and then you could think it through, and we could avoid getting into another fight.

Listen, about us --

God, this is so hard.

I had a dream last night. I dreamt I called you to get you back someday. I started out telling you that you were right, that no one was like you. I said, "I tried to get away from you. I tried to replace you, but somehow, it doesn't feel right with anyone else. In someone else's arms..."

Then, you interrupted me. In that voice that to me sounds angry but you know and I know really means you're hurt, you said, "You've tried being with someone else?"

"Yes, but that's not what I'm saying."

I don't know how much of that I said to an empty line, because I could hear nothing on your end, no voice, no breathing, nothing. It was as if you had dropped the phone, and I just didn't hear it hit.

I called out for you, but you didn't answer. The next thing I heard was a gunshot.

Do you understand what I'm saying? I'm not leading up to tell you I've slept with someone else. I haven't, but even if I had that's none of your business. I'm trying to tell you that you need me too much. It's flattering, but it's frightening. It's flattering, but it isn't healthy. It isn't healthy for you, and it isn't healthy for me.

I think we need to break it off. I'm spending the night with a friend from school tonight. When I get back, I expect you to be back in the other room. I'd rather you be out of the apartment completely, but we both know that's not going to happen.

I'm not saying I don't want anything to do with you. That isn't true. I care about you. And I'm not saying I just want to be friends, because we have both meant too much to each other for too long for that to be so. I still love you, but I need you to be a little further back.

I know you don't believe it, but I still think if you are going to love someone, you first have to love yourself. I don't think you do. You only love me, and your living through me is too much of a burden for me to bear. It is killing us both.

Love,

A.