Dear Theodore. I'm not really sure of what I feel now. I think its a white-hot kind of burning hurt so intense, so immense, that it becomes, essentially who I am - until I don't really feel much anymore.

In a way I was expecting it but I remember making up scenes as to how we will laugh at all these silly words when I am finally in your arms again.

During all our previous conflicts, time and again I convinced myself that each time it was over but we end up feeling okay.

This time I thought we would reconcile but... seems like it's not going to happen.

Dear Theodore, I can't believe it. Are you hiding something from me? Your feelings, maybe? I don't know Theodore but we were so close.

Your message is alien, template, cliched. Lifted straight out of the classic jerk's mouth from a stupid cheesy movie.

Are you okay now? Are you still getting headaches? Do you get enough sleep? Are you too obssessed with Glee that you're forgetting to take care of yourself? Are people still spamming you with phonecalls and messages?

Dear Theodore, please check your temper. I wish I could be there to tell you to relax and calm down, but I'm not so please Theodore, calm down and live your life and try to be happy, okay?

I miss you, but I can't be with you. Because you want some time on your own, and of course I respect that, but I hope that while you're by yourself, you don't spend too much time in that world and start forgetting about yourself, about me. Us.

Look after your health, Theodore. You know you have a low immune system. Don't injure yourself, don't get scratches and bruises and bumps and keep on falling or tripping or hitting your head.