You are a poison, Seamus. You are just this horrible disease that is invading my body bit by bit, taking over my mind slowly but surely. You're like a drug. When you're with me, when we're together, I feel like flying. I am invincible and powerful because you are by my side; you give me a high like nothing else can. And believe me, I've tried to find a replacement for you. You surround me, Seamus, inhabit me, and when you're there, all I do is see you and hear you and think you. When you're not with me too, and that's the problem.

I don't know what to do anymore. You're destroying me one kiss at a time. Your sandy hair, your forest green eyes, those freckles… I need you, Seamus, more than you need me. Do you know what you're doing to me? I can't keep coming home to Cormac wishing it was you in the bedroom instead of him. I have to stop sketching you, without realizing it at first, only to throw away the page when I see what I've done. I absolutely need to get you out of my head and wash away your scent from my clothes for good. But I can't, and I'll never be able to. You are the worst kind of drug; like a poison apple or a piece of candy dipped in arsenic. I can't give you up, because it feels too good when you're around. I know you're just going to disappear again though, like you do every single time, to leave me waiting and hurting over you.

Where do you go, Seamus? To Ireland, your home? To London? To goddamned Canada? Why won't you tell me? Once upon a time, you told me everything. We were friends, remember that? I don't even know what we are now. Strangers, maybe. I hardly recognize you. You still look the same of course, but you are different. You are angry and rough but despite all that, I still don't know how to give you up. If I stop lying to myself, I know that I don't even want to. I hope for your knock on my door as much as I dread it. Maybe even more. I can't resist your charms and your accent and your delicious, poisonous mouth, try as hard as I might.

You, my once-friend and always-lover, are cracking me, infecting me, hurting me. You don't think Cormac doesn't notice? He does. He's very perceptive, you know, but he'll never understand me or how I need you, just like I'll never understand you. When did you become so unstable, Seamus? After the war? Before, perhaps? The night you were forced to hurt me? That wasn't your fault, you know. Was it at my wedding? At your father's funeral? I went with you to Ireland for that, and I held your hand all through the service. What about the Yule Ball? Do you remember how we danced that night after the other had gone to bed? How you kissed me goodnight? It was the first time your lips touched mine. That was 17 years ago. Not once through those 17 years did I abandon you or hurt you willingly. I was always there for you when you needed me most. Do you recall that? And this is the thanks I get. A few visits once a year. Thanks a lot.

Where the fuck do you go, Seamus? Do you have somebody else waiting for you at the other end? She's prettier and younger, I expect. She doesn't have ugly pink scars all over her body like I have. Do you ever miss me or think of me like I think of you? Because I do, all the time. Too much. I have so many questions, Seamus, and they'll never be answered. When I'm with you, you hold this incredible power over me, like an Imperius curse that prevents me from asking you anything. What you're doing is Unforgiveable, I know this. I'm thinking it right now, aren't I? Yet I forgive you each time I open my door to let you in, or every time I kiss you back with so much passion and force I could move a mountain. I forget Cormac and I forget that inevitably, you're going to go somewhere I can't follow and above all, I forget that when you leave, I'm going to be even worse off than I was before. I'm going to crash. Your poison is seeping into my heart and skin and it blinds me from everything that is real when you're around. Here's a secret : sometimes, I don't think you are real. Maybe you're just a figment of my imagination. If that's true, then what a fucked up mind I have.

I wish I could tell you all these things, because these thoughts, like you, are breaking me beyond repair. I am nothing but shards of my former self, and I only ever feel like I'm healed when you're holding me close. There is always another piece of me broken when you go though, and they are adding up. I don't know how to fix it.

I want you back. The old Seamus. The man who stood by me proudly and never ran away. Next time you come around, I want you to stay around. I want us again. I am broken. Shattered. Fragmentary. Destroyed. Crushed. Hurt.

Addicted.

I wish you could help me.