asperation

you're my favorite still, twelve years later. our friendship feels almost caustic to me now as you continually show me how inappurtenant my existence has become. what sucks though is not being able to see when i disappeared. and i'm being excessively dramatic, i know. but this is also how i feel in my heart of hearts and have been, for three years now. i'd like to be to you what you were to me, but really i've always known how unattainable that conundrum is as i think about the myriad of tribulations i would happily abide for you. and i hate myself for wanting more, because you really are perfect, and maybe that's why i feel like shit anyway. or maybe its your occupation of my left index?