I am the cause of, and the solution to, all of your problems.

You love me, and you hate that you love me. And you hate yourself and I hate myself. And you won't let me help or even look at you. With a monopoly over the space around you, attempts at reconciliation are quickly destroyed before they even start. Yet, you miss me. Or maybe, someone like me, only better. Better to you because, to you, I couldn't ever be them. You find solace in familiarity, things you know you know. And I was the unknown. What we had is what could not be simplified, no matter which way you looked at it. And you looked at it over and over, analyzing and reanalyzing. Until you saw nothing. Until you could not see anything. And at last, you had the answer to the problem: it isn't there.