There's no place like home when you've got no place to go

I don't even know what to say.
I don't even know what to say.
I don't even know what to say.
I don't even know what to say.
I don't even know what to say.

You won't even talk to me directly about this.
You won't even fucking talk to me directly.
You'll post your fucking poems about me, saying that I'm stupid and a liar, but you won't even talk to me about it. And you get mad at me for "saying stuff behind your back" even though that was a goddamn misunderstanding and I didn't actually do it.

You know what you don't understand?
You don't understand that things can change.
People can be different.
And you can't control the way people change.
Trends say that this isn't real, and you're right. Trends aren't for nothing.
But trends can be broken.
And you're an idiot if you think they can't.
And I know you're not an idiot, so you know that they can.

It's been eight months, Malentine.
Eight months.
No, it's not a year.
But it's long enough for everyone to know that I'm taking this seriously.
You are the only one who isn't.
The only thing you can see in this whole fucking situation is your misery. Not my happiness. Not everyone else's acceptance. Just your misery.

The only thing I can do is sincerely apologize.
But that's not even enough for you.
It won't be enough until everything goes back to the way it was and I'm under your thumb again.
Well, I refuse.

Consider us broken up
Since that's we basically were - dating.
And you were the controlling one and I was the pushover.
Well, I've found someone who doesn't demand that I go to his house every weekend and actually goes to the places I invite him. He doesn't get disgusted and irritated when I find something I love and want to share it with him.

And he makes compromises.

And don't you dare say that I haven't tried to compromise, because I have. I've tried so hard to talk about it with you.

But you'd rather write your stupid poems about how miserable I make you for everyone else to see, and then keep it a secret from me.

Secret's out, Malentine.

If Damien let Malentine control him like she wanted to, then we wouldn't even have a story.