As I laid in bed, hopelessly reminiscing, I thought about how it would go. It wouldn’t be an ultimatum, but it would sure as hell feel like one, and an unjust, overly-sentimental one at that. Either love me, or you don’t. No sappiness, no declaration of your flaws, “how can you not see, we would be premier?”. Just putting into words what months of evasive conversation could never have – a final, revealing truth. It may be of the greatest high or the greatest low, euphoria or dysphoria, the oh-so dramatic life or death of me; but it will be what I need, what I have needed for so, so long. An end. A way out. The release of all my happiness, all my ambition, all of my aura that I have carelessly, selfishly put unto you.