I throw my last possession into my bag, and my last picture of you into the trash can.

My breathing is staggered; Perhaps this is a regular occurrence for one who is about to padlock another’s heart. The key itself is soon to be lodged deep within, painfully jagged and icy. You won’t understand, but it’s for the best.

Yes, I realize I’m throwing this all away. I am running away from you, from the past, from the future, from myself. I’m a coward, you were right all along.

But what does one do when their love for another vanishes? When the care is still alive, but the love... very much dead?

I could say that you would want me to leave, that the truth is better than a lie of a love. But I can’t. You would want me to stay with you, to pretend. To live life like an actress. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go on pretending, making excuses, playing someone else’s life out.

I’ve reached my conclusion. I am an actress, and life is but a show. I think, then, that this is our finale.

I’m sorry.