You

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     You, who has told me so much about yourself, who has shared so many of your secrets.  You, who has told me things, promised me things, that you wouldn't promise anyone else.  You, who accepted me, befriended me.  You, who thought I returned the favours.  You thought you knew my secrets, my past.  You thought I told you everything, and read promises into what I said.  You thought I let you in, past my walls, where no one has ever been before.  I tried.  I swear I did.  When we told each other things, confided things, I could see in your eyes that your words were true.  When I replied, mine were supposed to be, too.  Right up until the words came out of my mouth, they were going to be the truest words I had ever spoken.  But then they came out, and I realized they weren't what they were supposed to be.  I didn't take them back, though.  How could I?  You believed every word.  Every happy memory I shared, every dream, every wish, you believed it all.  Everything you thought you knew about me was wrong.  I didn't mean it to be this way.  I didn't want you to look at me and think I was one thing, while I was really another.  But I can't fix it.  No, I don't have that kind of courage, that I could tell you everything you thought you knew about me was a lie.  Would you believe me if I told you it was an accident?  That I tried to stop, but I couldn't?  Or would you think it just one more lie, to be added on to the already giant heap?  I know it's too much to ask for you to forgive me.  But please know that I am sorry.  That, at least, is true.

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