this won't hurt a bit

I'm going to tell you it's over between us because I don't care about you anymore, even though that's not true.
I'm going to tell you it's over between us because I don't care about you anymore, even though that won't matter to you at all.
I'm going to let you think I'm shallow, and flighty, and cold, because what I really am scares me.
I'm going to tell you I'm dumping you because you're violent... Because you smashed that perfume bottle against the wall.
Or because I had to turn to someone else for protection and warmth and caring.
Or I'll let you think it's because you forgot my birthday. Or because of that one time you told me to shut up.
I'll tell you it's over because of that night when you held me close - because we don't ever have nights like that anymore. But that's not true either. You hold me close all the time, it's just that now I've realized that instead of really, truly holding me close, you pretend.
I've been mistaking your sneer for a smile all this time; your hand in mine for a promise you never made.
You pushed me aside in your head even as you got closer then you'd ever been, my nakedness as irrelevent as my naivety. You opened up old wounds, salting them with every whispered lie, and cut brand new gashes with every touch, leaving scars where there had been none. And I've realized you've never truly known everything that lives inside me like I thought you did. You've never even truly cared. And how could you? Words are just tools to you, and I'm just... well, I'm just a piece of ass.

We could be infinitely and indefinitely happy together if I'd just ignore the fact that you don't give a flying fuck about me.

The sad part is that, you're right about everything. About me. About you. About us. I'm so pathetic and spineless and worthless that I can't even go a night without crying myself to sleep over you. And you're so wonderful and beautiful and deceitful and capable that even though I know I shouldn't, I worship the ground you walk on. By all means, our's is a fair arrangement. You've never hit me. You've never cheated on me. You've never promised me forever. But I can't help wishing every kiss had even a morsel of tenderness behind it, that everything wasn't just mechanical. Because when I touch you, it's because every particle of my being is screaming and aching with the need. And when I kiss you, it's because I don't think I could go on living another second if I didn't. You don't have to love me like that. I just wish you'd love me a little. A tiny, small bit...
Anyway, I can't tell you any of that. So, you can think I'm crying because I feel guilty about the thing with Ben, or because you scare me when you yell at me, or because I'm afraid to be alone. Just as long as you never suspect that I'm actually crying because for one brief moment in time, as I lay next to you, feeling your heart beat, watching your chest rise and fall, with your arm around me - I felt at peace and whole and like everything was as it should be.
I think everything will be okay if you never know that.

I'm going to tell you it's over between us because I don't care about you anymore. Because it won't hurt you in the least.