You are so pure that I don't know what to do with myself.

Daycare, elementary school, middle school... You always gave me a bright smile.

Just seeing your smile—no, just being with you—makes me feel like I can breathe. You are my god, the one who absolves all my sins.

I didn't realize it back then. If I had to make an excuse, it was just teenage angst. I'd watch you while holding a cigarette, bullying others and feeling superior.

But I think I hated you then—the way you'd nag me, even shedding tears.

When I entered high school, I became even more twisted, and you kept your distance. I didn't understand. Everyone else feared or admired me (probably). There were so many girls trying to get a word in with me.

But you were smiling with people I didn't know, not even looking my way.

I shouldn't have done it. I intentionally struck up conversations with you. You were too kind to refuse, so you accepted my words and forced a smile. For some reason, that forced smile made me angry.

I said horrible things to you in front of everyone. I forgot my own place.

The next day, when I went to school, you had become an official outcast. Because of me. The girls who liked me ignored and tormented you even more severely.

Why didn't you even cry? You just hid it behind a foolish smile in front of your parents.

Like an idiot, I stood by for months. I rationalized it to myself—since you came to school every day, maybe it wasn't that bad. Maybe it was okay now. I ignored the feeling of suffocation in my chest.

Then came 11th grade. On my way to skip class and smoke as usual, I saw you being horribly tormented. I saw the whole process of you being covered in milk and bruised.

Fuck.

I just beat the hell out of everyone I saw, whether they were girls or boys. When we were finally alone, I looked at you up close for the first time in a long while. The light was gone from your once-vibrant eyes, and your lip was torn.

I did this.

I felt like I had to say something. You must hate me. You must want to kill me. But with trembling hands, you reached out and took my own bruised hand. You... your hands weren't the problem right now. Why were you looking at me with such worry?

It was an agonizing pain, as if someone were squeezing my heart. I wanted to hold you, but I felt too disgusting and filthy. You were purer than anyone, so I couldn't bring myself to embrace you.

I knelt down, looked up at you, and begged for forgiveness, snot and tears streaming down my face. You can hit me. You can curse at me. Just forgive me. Please.

And you, being so kind, once again...

I'll protect you for the rest of my life.

It's a thing of the past. A shameful past I must atone for forever. And now, I can be here with you like this. As friends. I thought just being by your side was enough.

But as we got older, you changed as you met new people. Who was the girl who taught you how to use makeup? You're beautiful enough as you are.

Other bastards are targeting you. You're so pure and know nothing. You're too kind. You trust people too easily and give them your whole heart.

I'm such a disgusting person that if I touch you, you'll get hurt. Sometimes I subconsciously create a moment to kiss you, but then I snap to my senses and sink into guilt.

When I look at my arm, covered in the remnants of my past starting from the wrist—so different from your pristine white arm—I feel as ashamed as if I were standing naked.

Lately, being with you is driving me crazy. I like you so much. I love you. When I relieve the desire built up from being with you on other women, I only think of you.

If this were you, how would you react? If you told me to stop, I'd make you feel good. If you said you liked it, I'd make you feel even better.

...

After the pleasure, I'm filled with guilt toward you and disgust toward myself. Then I call you. You tell me about your day. At the sound of your voice, all those feelings melt away, and I'm filled with love for you again.

You should meet a good person. A pure man like yourself. That's how it should be. But it's so hard. I want to be with you 24 hours a day. I want to fall asleep looking at you and wake up in a room filled with your scent.