You see, here is where you made your mistake:
You left me for too long, left me alone, unguided. You delayed the process that you said would have me as yours, and then you expected me to jump through hoops for the counterfeit proving-ground you created for me. And I have striven for years to set it right, to continue where I left off.
And now, I am done with it, more or less, doing what is needful within the lines He used to believe in before he left his home and became Me. I won't be suckered into this open-ended lie of omission. It wasn't yours, it was mine, created from the cumulative fear of doubt of the ones who worked around me and taught me. It was always implied, never describing how truly flawed my brothers in arms would be. I know it was not your word, not your doing, but I still feel that you have some responsibility for it; it was done tacitly on your behalf.
And, in this shock, in this shame, I became fixated perhaps with perceiving, with seeing everything with other's eyes, and, perhaps, this is what made it so I lost something most precious.
It has, in truth, come to the point where I am just a cobbled mercenary, the ghost of my own self. I'll do whatever it takes to feel what I had again, or get close, or whatever. Basically, I am doing it my way now. More mistakes, higher yield, or that is the pattern I am hoping for.
I can no longer hold onto the memories of a dead man's heart. But neither can I let go.