Once Again.

I guess this is what I get for wanting to spend time with you. It's like a passive disappointment. In my attempt, you've still succeeded because now you've found something better to occupy your time. Something you'd get paid for doing. A job? Honestly, you really are ahead of me in everything. Coming to terms with myself, I've come to realize that I shouldn't be so selfish. You have your life to live, and even though you may say you'll try, I don't think you will be successful in coming to my aid. You're too busy, but I understand. It's okay. I did want to have a chance to tell you how much you will be missed; actually, how much you are missed. Thinking of it rationally, I guess there's no point in pursuit. Maintaining contact even now already seems so impossible. I do wish to try, but part of me feels that it would be better for you if I don't. I just wanted to be near you, so I'm glad it happened, at least for a short time. It's okay. If it benefits you, and makes you happy, then I don't mind being alone. It's all right for me to wait for the next time around. Of course, I can't help but feel the sadness that must come, but at least I'll have it to keep me company.
Hello, my all too familiar friend. How have I been?