You're not him. You never were him. That was some twisted fantasy I projected onto you. But can't you see why? I fell in love with a broken, fictional boy, and then I met you - and you were so much like him, a broken boy with crimson hair. The only problem was that you were real.
You got it. You wanted to be my Alex. And I -- well, I ran away. Was that Jennie's thought, or my own?
I was wrong to do that. I'm sorry.
You see, sometimes I wonder if I'm still in love with you. I shy away from the word, just like Jennie would, because it sounds so adult and permanent and I'm young and nothing at all in my life is permanent enough for that sort of feeling. But the truth is, I don't think I ever did love you. Perhaps I thought I did. I fell in love with the part of you that was him, and not the part of you that was you. I was pining for a boy who was fiction, a boy I invented.
A boy who was broken because of me. A boy I killed.
You were never Alex. You were just unfortunate enough to look like him. It was a coincidence that your favourite song was the one I'd chosen as his theme song months before I even met you. It was a coincidence that the songs you wrote fit him perfectly. It was a coincidence that you sometimes spoke with his mannerisms, with the same mix of bitterness and hope.
I thought you were Alex.
You never were.
That was an illusion and I was wrong to project that onto a real person with real feelings. I should never have associated you with him.
And I am so, so sorry.