reading this is a pain. you take it as a challenge, then, because it’s how you like it:
not painful (you wouldn’t be here otherwise), but challenging. and you’re aware now, that it almost sounds like a narrative, and you take that as a challenge too. so instead of reading what he writes you write not and read doing so yourself.
there’s no breaks here. you think it poetic. he would think it stupid. he keeps saying “you” like the subject is the reader when we know that the subject is you, the challenge & the challenger, strung by your own puppet strings that, in some faraway place, also holds him; who’s who? you’re him, he’s you, but it doesn’t matter. on paper, you and him were the same in relation to each other: challenges. begin quote, end quote. you & him.

now we’re going in circles. you’re thinking about how night and day aren’t on the same coin but chase each other in an infinite checkmate. some say the night came before the day but we all know the earth had to be foremost. now we’re going in circles again, but that’s how planets form.

reading this is a pain. he takes it as a challenge, wherever he is, because it reminds him of you:
definitely painful (he wouldn’t be gone otherwise), but challenging; and he’s aware now that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, one that’s glittering, and he thinks that it’s a taunt. he’s considering giving up because taunts hate no reaction.
giving up is an action. he thinks it’s stupid. after all that, who can blame him? he keeps you at an arms length, as if you are behind the bars and he is the ball & chain you forget about, the immovable object, unstoppable force— Hegel, thesis antithesis (and a forgotten third). you are one shackle together: trapped. commas have no pairs and there is no conclusion for you, now him.