I write this to you on the 25th of December // 1 month after we first talked.

I'm going to die on Jesus' supposed birthday.

Dear Super-girl, 

You can stop reading now.

I know you want to.

I know that you hate me.

You must.

You have to.

If you don't then all the tears that we shed together were a lie.

I'm not sorry.

For what I did, I mean.

I'm not sorry for bulldozing into your life.

I'm selfish.

But we've already established that.

Or, at least, I have.

I guess that's why I'm writing this.

I don't know why I'm writing this.

Why am I writing this?

There's no point.

You made a mistake, Cleo. You trusted me enough to change. You thought that you could change me. Me. It's almost laughable. After every little thing that I had done. After lying to you. After using you in my own sick little game of trying to kill myself.

I'm not sorry for that either.

I think that it would make things a whole lot more complicated for us both if I was.

So I'm happy that I'm not.

I am so, so happy that I am not sorry.

This isn't a love letter.

Or if it is, it's a pretty screwed up one.

You know, considering the fact that by the time you read this I will most likely be sprawled on my bathroom floor with a knife in my hand (like one of those really depressing movie scenes you told me about that always make you cry).

No longer breathing.

I think it's better that way.

Let me rephrase that; it is better that way. This way. Don't try and deny that I did not make your life hell on earth. You told me yourself, whether you meant it or not. You probably didn't. It was probably just a jibe. A jibe at me for being the jerk that I am. I deserved it. Didn't mean that it didn't hurt though.

Don't cry.

I swear to God (that I don't believe in by the way but I'm pretty sure that you could have guessed that from my not so saint-like behavior) that if you cry I will find some sort of way to rip myself out of the cage of death and haunt you for the rest of your life.

That almost sounded poetic.

Almost as poetic as my very much timely death.

Even you have to admit that my time was up. We both knew it. I'd poisoned the world enough. Poisoned you enough. 

So. Don't cry.

I'm not worth your tears.

I think, in the midst of all of this chaos inside of my mind that I do love you.

Did.

Before I die.

Died.

It's kind of weird to think about yourself in the past tense, you should try it some time. It really helps me get my head around things. Maybe it will help you with that whole reformation thing you have going on. Don't give up on that by the way. It gives me a weird sort of satisfaction to know that I helped you become a better person. Even if the act didn't go both ways. You tried. I was, am, just already too far gone.

I don't think that you can feel emotions if you're dead. There's no big guy up in the sky waiting for me with golden gates and angelic voices that would probably drive me to the brink of insanity. At least, if there is, he deserted me a long time ago.

I'm looking forward to dying. To the black ink of nothingness that will free my mind from everything that it has endured, whether it being tortured by itself or others. It's the only real way to heal. From the guilt. From the pain. From missing you every single second that I breathe.

Breathed.

I'm not sorry for killing myself.

I have a knife in my left hand as I write this and a gun just in case the good old fashioned method fails.

I am sorry for one thing though. I'm sorry for doing the worst thing that I possibly could have done. The one thing I promised myself not to do. I'm sorry for falling in love with you Super-girl. I am so, so sorry for falling for you in the worst and most painful possible way.

In all honesty, I know that calling you in the first place was messed up. By calling you I put my entire burden on your shoulders and that...that was incredibly selfish. I didn't even think about what the information of my suicidal decision would do to someone. I didn't think about what the weight of my death could do to someone, even a stranger. But I'm not sorry and I never could be. You were, are, the best thing that has ever happened to me and I can never regret that. But you...you have to get your head around the fact that...that I can't help it. This...this is the ending that's right for me. This is the only option I have.

And then there are all the lies I told you. I became an entirely different person because of you Cleo and that's not necessarily a good thing. As soon as I first heard your voice I...I knew I had to get to know you. Those first few words you spoke they were...they were so full of kindness and sincerity and somehow I just knew...I just knew that I had to get to know you better so I...I became someone else. I had seen all of the movies. I knew what girls tended to swoon over these days. Cocky. Arrogant. Bad puns. Everything that I wasn't. But I...I became one of those guys. I became a mix of every lovable male protagonist ever just for you. So that you would like me. But...it...it wasn't right. It wasn't me. That was somebody else. But somehow...somehow you saw underneath that to the guy who was just really...really bad. And you...you didn't try to fix me. You...you just accepted me for the broken piece of garbage that I was. And that...that's the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me. 

This letter has become a  whole lot deeper and more emotional than I wanted it to be. I swore to myself that I would only write a few lines. None of those lines selfish.

But what is this is...ten, twenty paragraphs maybe?

Each one of them selfish.

Both because of the trees I am wasting and the words that you don't want to read.

This isn't how I wanted this to go.

Truthfully?

I don't actually give one.

I really don't.

And I cannot be bothered to write all of this out again so here it is. The last thing you will ever hear from me.

I don't care about that either.

So long as you know that I loved you in my own sick, twisted sort of way. Even if it took quite a few selfish paragraphs for me to express it.

Goodbye Super-girl.

Love, Shane. 

I'll be Your Lost Boy for as long as I shall live which, in all fairness, won't be much longer.

I ruined the moment, didn't I? 

I've always been good at wrecking things.

Goodbye Super-girl.

PS: If I was a girl I would leave a lipstick stain but I'm a guy and I do not wear lipstick so I'm sorry for destroying your fantasies of a proper lipstick sealed letter but you know what? You're a big girl. Suck it up.

PPS: You're crying, aren't you?

PPPS: Stop it. You're messing up my fabulous handwriting.