you chose to love a broken girl.

I’m sorry I’m a dysfunctional human being.

Frankly, I don’t know what love is. I don’t know what it’s like to feel love for another person, much less what it’s like to be in love with them. And I know that if I ever confessed such to you, you would attribute my condition to a childhood full of strife, one too many instances of betrayal, a premature introduction to despair.

But really, honestly, I don’t know how much of that would be true. So let’s just stick with the simplest answer:

It’s a failing on my part.

You had every right to fall in love. You had every right to confess to the girl that occupied your mind and made your palms sweat in nervous expectation. You had every right to hope.

The only mistake you made was choosing me.

Because I don’t know how to love, and so I could have never loved you back. I could have never loved you then.

It’s only by the tasteful irony of fate that I find myself in love with you now.

Y’know. Now that you’re dead.