When it's over, no one is singing

I'm letting go.
I may or may not decide to tell you that I'm doing so.
I haven't worked out whether you're worth the effort of explaining.
Can't really tell whether you would even care.

Don't worry, though.
I'll still show up at your parties.
That seems to be the main point of concern for you
with our continued friendship.
I enjoy those independently of my attachment to you.
The difference is that I won't pay
the least bit of attention to you while I'm there.

The difference, my dear, is that while
I will still care about your welfare,
I will not continue to allow you
to hurt me with your indifference.
I won't be waiting for you to call.
Even if you said you would.
I won't be opening up to you
or telling you what is going on in my life.
You don't need to know anything
that doesn't affect my attendance at your events.

I don't know what I was thinking.
I guess I thought there might be more between us.
More than the occasional movie,
that I have to beg and wait months for.
More than three words over the telephone.
More than discussions of who I'm fucking.
I guess I thought that I could count on you.
But as soon as I started to do so,
you proved just how wrong I was.

So I won't.
I'll take you as exactly what you have proven to be.
The occasional three words on the telephone,
mostly to establish that I will be there to pad your attendance.
Don't suggest we might go out. I won't be dangled.
I'm not some plaything for you to bat around
when there is no one else on the line.
From now on, the answer is simply 'no.'

I'm letting go. And the simple truth is
that even if I tell you
-- even if I explain it and lay it all out in it's rawest form --
you will never understand how much you meant,
or how much this hurts.