I thought we had something in common. I thought we understood each other. When I first met you, I found you cold and indifferent, but then I heard your story. You were like me, or so I thought. Your story mirrored mine, almost perfectly. I thought that someone finally understood. I thought maybe now I had a friend that fully comprehended the pain that I had been through, and the wall I had to build to defend myself.

I was right about our stories. They were the same. Yet now I realize a life is based not upon events, but upon the person that the events happen to. We are not the same person. We are polar opposites, in more ways than one. You can’t understand because you do not feel the way I do, do not think the way I do.

Take the betrayals of our past, for example. We both had a friend that we loved so deeply who turned against us in the pressures of life. It left us broken, alone. But the pain hurt differently for me because I was so devoted to the well being of my friend. I would have died for her in a moment’s notice.

You’re too arrogant for that kind of selflessness. I can’t comprehend being as full of myself as you are. I find it difficult to believe that you’ve ever even had a thought that did not glorify your own existence.

You cowardly send me messages, telling me that I’m too proud, that I care about no one but myself, and I panic. I find ways to degrade myself to keep you on your pedestal of self-absorbance. I grovel at your feet, afraid to lose the only friend that I thought understood my eternal pain and me. I was so, so wrong.

I tore down my wall for you. I let you inside my fortress of secrets, because I thought you could keep it safe. But all you did was take advantage of the opportunity, and attack from inside. I made a mistake by ever thinking that you could be trusted with the past that I have kept holed up for so long.

What we have is not a friendship. We don’t even have an understanding. All that our relationship consists of is you proving that I can never even be you equal. When you’re around, no one can be talented, or creative, or individual. You suck the creativity out of all the people around you, making sure you’re the only person with any ability or confidence, like a parasite that pulls the life out of all of its surroundings, just to stay alive.
You’re like a siren, luring me in with your songs of understanding, only to plunge me deeper and deeper into the cold, dark ocean of disgrace and self-destruction.
You are alone in a world of only you, and someday you’ll come out of your selfish trance and be broken, with no one else to drain.

You call me arrogant. Perhaps the meaning confuses you. Maybe you should suck a little of your own sentience.

You are the epitome of arrogance.