I met Mia in the studio.
She was my fan, Artis.
Part of her reminded me of you,
encouraging the thing I always hid back at school
to fit in.
There used to be this spark in her crystal eyes
when she tried my dishes.
Maybe at some point, I did love her.
But Artis, during the three years
that went between Mia and me,
whenever she looked at me
you stared back at me
through the hazy fog,
and maybe that's why I hate myself.
She deserves more.
I'm having long days,
tiring me - even surviving Mia seems
hard.
Even if 'you and I' can't happen,
I don't want to drag Mia down.
But Artis, today when I went home
her eyes dimmed
and I saw that she knew.
It's bad
but damn Artis, I'm so
r e l i e v e d.