Dear, You

I don't like yelling. I don't like crying as much as I have the last few days, and I don't like thinking that we have to blame one or the other.
We're not even a something, we're drifting away even though we've been distant for ages it feels, I'm sick and you're angry.
I'm depressed and you don't understand why you can't fix me, I'm not broken, dear, just a little cracked.
And I don't know how to help you to help me.
I don't think I want help.
I worried about breathing the wrong kind of breath around you then I stopped and you took it as me not caring anymore.
I try
I try so hard.
You don't think I do.
But I'm trying to fix me and you and us and what we don't have anymore.
I would take it all back if it hadn't been so tattooed in the foundation that started to crumble about 9 months in.
And every 5th I won't know what to say to you now. I don't know.
You showed music that I now love but refuse to listen to because it all hurts too badly.
You're inconsiderate and I'm as stubborn as they come.
Why are we so different now?
I loved the you that you used to be.
I love you now.
And I don't know if you love me, but that's okay.
I'm so different now, I've gone through many trials and tribulations that have humbled and dulled me.
I'm smaller and I'm shyer and more boring.
I'm sicker and sadder.
And you don't like it. And you want to fix me, and I don't think you can.
I take you as you are through fights and everything.
You seem to take me as me through every calorie I've counted, through every scar, through every last tear.
But I feel like maybe it's fading away.
And I'm not enough.
Maybe I'm not.

I'm so sorry.