Look

If you want me, if you want to give this a chance, you gotta get a divorce. It is as simple and as complex as that. Do with that what you will, because I can’t be the arbiter of if that’s the right thing for you to do.

It was never the professional boundaries for me. I’m too much of a non-conformist to care about stuff like that. There are general ethical guidelines, they are there for a reason, but that consideration simply doesn’t apply to us. And where it does apply, it need not apply indefinitely.

It was always her. I cannot cheat with you. I cannot do that to another woman; I cannot do it to myself either. I simply cannot share you. I cannot live in a reality where you know what I feel and still don’t choose me.

I have, nonetheless, fallen in love with you. You may suspect I have feelings for you, but my ethics won’t allow me to make it clear to you. I proved to myself in the past two years that I cannot do more than write letters here that I know you’ll never read. And being unable to not look at you. And being unable to not enjoy you. Acting cold toward you, growing cold, simply because every day you stay married is another day my hypothesis is not falsified. I think I’m suffering because I think there’s something between us. I wish I didn’t. If you care about me at all, and if you won’t choose me, please let me go.