You were a nice guy.
Not like the one I ended up with.
You travelled hundreds of miles every weekend to see me—you made me things. Things that took time, effort, and thoughtfulness.
You were good to me, you supported me, and you never asked for anything in return.
You looked through my email and found things you had a right to be upset about, and in true narcissistic fashion I manipulated you into feeling guilty for invading my privacy.
I apologized to you, it was an empty apology.
You wanted so badly to believe I actually was, so you did.
I knew I wasn't going to be with you forever—I knew it all along. I liked how you made me feel and I wanted it to continue. I wanted it to continue at the expense of your time and your feelings.
God, I was an asshole.