Epistle about love.

I'm sorry for what I've become. You came after, and you can't try to fix everything that happened before. This is me, this is what I've become. What, not Who. I'm a thing, not a person. I'm something so dark, so confused, so painful and so hurted. Impossible to be understood. Hard to love.
And you're just a little angel, so soft, so beautiful and so kind. I don't deserve you and your words. I deserve to die.
I'm small, I'm needy and I need you to warm me up and breathe me. But there's something about me so wrong. Save my life, please. Won't you help me?
I need you, your kisses and embraces so warm. You seem to care, and I do care about you, I just can't figure it out. I'm silly, I'm unsafe, I'm pathetic.
And you're a dream. And I know I'm your worst nightmare. Is it a pity? Is it a shame? You gimme so much love... please, you don't have to keep your promise if you don't want to.
But I'll ask you one more time, do not leave me. I need you, I love you, I breathe you.
I would die if you weren't here, with me, for me.
For you, with all my love,
Your D.