I like you, I really do.
Not in the 'crazy stalker that follows you home, staking outside of your window waiting for you to fall asleep and then breaking in and licking your toes, sniffing your hair all before pleasuring myself by rubbing at your bedpost and watching your delightfully, limp sleeping body.' way ( Although, the police would have you believe otherwise. The gits! ) But in the 'my heart skips a beat every time you're near me' way, and you can't blame that on my heart condition.

Yet, I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, we're not meant to be. I mean, maybe we met in a past life. You know the deal, by day we exchanged rice patties under the scorching sun for young female companions and by night we would sit under the moon and happily become the silent critics of the universe...

And, as the fairytale ends, we all live happily ever after.

But, then the bastard side of me chirps in (Oh, and what a bastard she is!) and then the story switches. Hissing her evil tales harshly into my ear, she easily influences my thoughts (The bastard!)

And then i begin to think, who knows, maybe we were actually in rival gangs that fought over which side hair should be parted. We would slaughter and maim many in our efforts to support our absurd, but necessary cause.

Either way...

Wait. I forgot where I was going with this...

Well, this is awkward...

Oh, yeah. I'm breaking up with you.

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