For a while, you weren't even a friend, but I'm not sure you knew that.
We had nothing in common. You weren't the kind of person I ever liked to be around.
Until you stood up for me and I thought I had misjudged you. I turned my eyes away from the fact that I had specifically asked you not to deal with my shit for me. I figured maybe that was how people showed they cared.
I was wrong. It was just you sticking your nose into other people's business, genuinely persuaded you were in any way concerned by this.

For a while, you weren't a friend either, until friendship was kind of forced upon us. Then I came to believe I had misjudged you, too. And although you were the kind who constantly wanted to keep me to yourself and oftentimes I had to make up plans in order to break away and catch my breath, in order to manage to find a minute when you wouldn't be standing by my side.
So I guess it's no surprise that you so dearly wanted to deal with my shit for me, although this was never what I wanted. And that you chose pretending made me so mad, I decided I'd leave it at that.

Acknowledgement of one another was forced upon us, as well. For a while you most definitely amazed me. And I amazed you, too, I gather. We each went our way, on parallel roads. I never felt particularly close to you, though, however unromantic and unfitting it was to you. But I guess you rightly believed that it didn't make for as good a story that way.

You never struck me as anyone I could spend time with, which is probably why I barely acknowledged your existence at first. I never thought we'd make it this far. We weren't from similar worlds. You were too close. I never would've imagined I was headed for something like this.
In a twisted way, I was right. You weren't too close, but worlds can't always mix, and when you try to force them to, one of them is bound to break to pieces.

Looking back, it strikes me as extremely sick and unbelievable. We've had it hard, haven't we? There must've been a reason you wanted to be my friend so much, but I could never see it. I always felt how sick it was, but I couldn't bring myself to face the reason why.
Walking in, walking out, running around in circles. Dizzy. Sick. Dizzier. Sicker. Faster and faster.
You found justifications for your actions and I played weaker than I really was. Until you contributed to the hunt and I was so disoriented that playing weak turned into playing a part based on despair and pain, right up until all sort of play at all disappeared.

And then, as always, it was just a final straw. La goutte d'eau qui fait déborder le vase.
An accumulation of things that causes the whole pyramid to crumble down when you add the last block.

They'll blame you but the pyramid wouldn't have crumbled down if it had been solid to begin with.

You can build it again but it takes time, and you can build it again only if you don't start kicking every block around so as to let all your anger out.

I'm never going to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not sorry, though. I really am, but amongst the many parts of the old me that were murdered is the one that was sorry for my mistakes.

I'm mixing things up, here, ain't I?
Yes. In a way. Or not, because -

My main mistake with everyone was not to trust my gut.
Because every knife I saw coming - and tried to stare out, because gut is dumb and gut doesn't know anything.
I was wrong, yet again.
Gut knows everything.