Another Unsent Letter

I love you. Like a friend, I think.
To be honest, I don't quite know how to feel about you.
You once said that you love me, yet somehow I'm the one always chasing you.
I am filled with unfamiliar emotions; dark, conflicting, tender to touch.
It is my nature to think my way through my feelings; but what thought could encapsulate the hidden motives of a heavy heart?
All the same, in a part of me somewhat less than divine, I understand - even if I cannot bring myself to put it in writing.
I hate to admit to all that it implies, but I can't deny it and I won't bother trying.
I hate this; I would almost prefer lying to myself - were it not also to you, my friend.
I want you, yet I cannot have you.
I hate myself for wanting you;
I hate everyone else for keeping you from me.
And I know the fault is mine for feeling like this; because I was fool enough to hope in the face of hopelessness.

And now I understand ambivalence - only too well, I'm afraid.
You are my friend, you know I hold you dear.
Why must I push you away just to keep you near?
You are the light of my life, you are the flame that burns.
I cannot stand it; it tears me apart to feel like this.
Because I can no longer keep it inside, I must find a way to cut these feelings off at the source.
You are the source, my friend; and the only way I can save myself from myself is to walk away from you.
I'm sorry.