I'm not begging anymore.

And I know I'm not begging anymore. I'm not calling or asking anymore. I can't, I guess. I couldn't stand it, I couldn't keep it for much longer.
Truth be told, honey, I'm not having a good time. I'm not even having a regular time. I just forgot how to smile, how to breathe, how to feel something different but pain, but desire, but loneliness. Haven't I told you this? Haven't I mentioned, in any of the letters I've sent, how desperate I am for seeing you again? How desperate I am for holding your hand in mines once more?
Maybe it's just a difficult concept for you, too difficult to be understood by someone whose greatest prove of affection was to put a nickname on my name. Lets face it, babe, your biggest shown of love was that, oh, and to kiss me in public, which, even when i loved it, wasn't really enough. I was willing to wait, to heal your broken heart, to make you believe in yourself again and you ran like a scared boy. You ran like a child. And here I am, here I still, standing in the same dead point, in the same broken place where once I said I was willing to help you heal. 
But this, this has been too much. They all say the same old dusty lie, they all say you're still into me, you still think of me, which I think it's not true. You don't even remember my face, as far as I'm concerned. 
And that's why this is all so hard. Because I did fell for you, I did feel and I did mean it. And trying to forget and to pretend nothing happened is not that easy, sweetie. 
But I'm not begging anymore, I have nothing left to give. I'm not asking you for more, I'm not sure I can survive you again.
I'm not begging anymore, but, oh God, I miss you like hell.
And, sure as hell, I'm not forgetting you that fast.
In this letter, the damned it's me.