I am your friend. I like you very much. We have known one another for half an eternity. In more than one way I love you. I need you and don't want to be without you. And yet, without a "because" I have an inkling that... NO!

I know. I know that I will be the one to deeply wound our friendship if I do not entirely eradicate it. Now that I am gone you can blame your mistakes on me. Your loss... of me. Now, before the last breath has been taken I am crying, laughing, loving, hating. All at once in emotional turmoil. When your honesty dawns on me there in the middle of the silent but [bad word] situation...my very self wants to change its mind but the decision has been made and the deed shall be done.

(Earlier)

I called you and explained I had a very grave matter to tell you. First you questioned the meeting place (miles away from the neighbourhood where we made fires and spoke of love and misanthropy when we were young.) 

We're standing in a snowy forest. Religiously, as if each and every breath drawn kills someone far away, you stand about a metre in front of me, waiting for my haggard face with mouth to begin talking. It's a matter of seconds before I attack you and in my pocket I repeatedly feel the sharp edge of the knife with my thumb. I stab you. 

("Goodbye!")

It's easier than I had thought. You bleed out under me.
When I, numbed, begin to walk home Samael's "Til We Meet Again" plays in my earphones and I know you'll forgive me and understand when we meet again.