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Dear Formerly Mentioned,
I write to you with the intent of revealing one simple truth hidden beneath glorified falsehoods. And, the simple truth is this: I am not ready for friendship. Too self-invested am I to place someone's feelings before my own, too boring am I to entertain someone else's company, and too apprehensive am I to deepen my relationships. I am simply too selfish to be your friend. No longer can I go on living with the label that binds us, which I am hesitant to voice every time I hold ownership of your presence. This is to say that I am not proud to be your friend. I cannot strip you of the truth any longer, as continuing to do so would be infinitely cruel on my part. You must no longer carry the burden of loving a stranger, and unspeakably so. This will be the only remedy for my guilt, as conceded men deserve nought but their own love. And still, in spite of my confessed selfishness, I continue to care only for a cure to my ailment. Though, I need to know, what is your cure, my friend? What's a villain to do for the innocent? I suppose the only cure would be your ignoring of my stability, as I did to you many times in the past, admittedly voluntarily. I seek redemption for my actions, and if leveling out the playing field is the only way to make that desire reality, then, by God, so be it. Friend, allow me to endure the exact pain you've endured, to exchange your grief for my happiness. Go on, pursue a life of fortune in my stead. Build an empire that's of the same worth as my betrayal, and undo my sins with your heroism. Live the life I never could.
Please.
Signed,
Forever Selfish
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