You walk in, I've already gone. I know why you came. You wanted an answer, to seek justification.
How long have I known you? Seems like forever and never at once. So many words shared between us; I was amazed someone of your intelligence would want to speak to me. You said you were amazed at my understanding. All your friends and colleagues, with their advanced thoughts and superior attitudes, could not understand or help when you were in need. So you spoke to me, and I gave you such simple words. So balanced - you explained my thoughts and I felt for you.
But then you told me you loved me. Shocked me. It wasn't that I didn't think you were capable of that emotion, but I never expected it from you. I should have been happy. I should have cried for joy and let my emotions overcome me like so often before. But something in me died. Did I love you? Always have, without a word, without a thought. But when I saw you again, my smile was gone. You greeted me with a hug, but I was stiff. Then I told you:
I can't love you.
You smile, puzzled, at me. Your eyes questioned and pierced my own, and inside I broke down and wept. But I forced the words to come. I don't have the intellectual capacity to love you. You didn't understand, so you brushed of my words as another silly rush of emotion. But I told you goodbye, turned and left.
I think I may have killed you, but I know you will live again. Why did I do that? How could I explain? You knew so much, but only I knew why it couldn't be. I was too emotional. Perhaps I should have added, should have made it more clear. I don't have the intellectual capacity to love you as you deserve. You were destined for success. You needed somebody who could support you through your career and encourage your rise - somebody who could understand your depth and intellectual frustrations and talk you through them.
I know I seemed cold. It's too late to explain. Perhaps it seemed too cold for our last goodbye, as if it meant nothing to me. But that's not true, only I would know. It's just that I've always been so emotional. The least I could do was to compose myself for the end. That way the memory would always be whole. That way there would be no mess for you to clean up. Nice and neat, just like your life was before you met me.