You probably knew that it would eventually come to this. I didn’t. I loved you with all my heart. When I was feeling down, all I dreamed of was getting home, dimming the lights, pouring some wine and spending some quality time with you. It seemed that you always had what it takes, you anticipated my every wish, had something in store for me to compliment my mood.

But, you see, that’s the problem with you and I. You granted my every wish, so I took you for granted. I always needed more. Every single time I was with you, I wanted you to be new and exciting. I filled my external hard drive with all of our exciting adventures, they were all categorized and neat. I never took the time to even look at all those pictures and videos once I had them. I just wanted new stuff. I wanted to download it, categorize it and keep it for, I don’t know, some Doomsday when we wouldn’t be able to keep our relationship going because of limited Internet access. So I thought that my secret stash of memories would come in handy. I could be in some cave with my laptop and solar charger and enjoy all those beautiful memories we had.

So, why am I breaking it off, you ask? Because you tricked me. More than twice. So, yes, the shame is on me. I became numb. I became addicted. I stopped appreciating life around me. I know, you’re going to say I always was the addictive type. I have no problem admitting that. I get hooked so easily, it really isn’t your fault. I just can’t spend my nights looking for a new kick anymore, some perverted and sick flick that could trigger my senses. I’ve seen them all. I’ve chatted, videochatted, Skyped, taken and published photos, created and deleted profiles, spent money, tried almost anything you showed me, and I still feel empty. This cannot be healthy, right? Now I don’t even know what a full hard-on looks like, because nothing really puts me in that place anymore. You cannot show me something I haven’t seen. I mean, you can, but I was never into that sort of shit. It just doesn’t turn me on. Or, if I stick around longer, will it?

I remember the first night I fell in the gutter with you. It was 4am and I had an exam in the morning. I was a college junior, and lived alone. I enjoyed your company so much. So, it was 4 am, I was in the dark, my face all lit up, my left hand in my pants. My right hand was juggling a cigarette, a can of beer and the mouse. I knew I had a life outside of you. An exam. That my parents were paying for my apartment and college. I knew all of that. But I couldn’t stop. You were so good. Even when I failed that exam, I came home straight to you, got drunk, and jerked off until my cock ached. The gutters were more and more severe every time, like with any junkie and his drug. I don’t want to pull out our dirty laundry, you know what I’m talking about. You made me feel ashamed. I made myself feel ashamed. So, this has to stop. I don’t know what it will look like, but I want to feel the touch of someone else’s hands on me. To feel aroused when someone brushes against me in the bus. To feel alive again. You made me dead inside. I made myself dead inside.

It is 4am now. I had my session with you. I almost puked. It was so sick and sad. I had my beer, stroked my semi hard dick and you just couldn’t give me anything. I was so angry. I was so sad. I was so desperate. I am so alone.

I sat down and thought about our relationship. I am going to format my external hard drive. I don’t want our memories anymore. I want to meet someone real and prepare for Doomsday. I want to make love and be innocent and curious like before. I know I can’t be like that anymore. And that is the thing – I want to stop before it’s too late, if it’s not already, and save that small amount of self-respect I have left. I hope it can be restored with time. I’m not coming out of this relationship heartbroken, but rather cock-broken, picking up the pieces of my shattered dignity.

Every breakup is hard. This is no exception. I’m going to miss you. I will think of you every time I see my laptop. I might try to get back to you. But I really hope I won’t. Not again. Not like this.

Now I’ve said it, I feel better already.

So, this is goodbye.

Format F:

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