Dear Person: I’m done.
Dear Person: I was angry. Now I feel empty.
Dear Person: I cried – wretchedly – and now I feel hollow.
Dear Person: what kind of person does that make me?
Dear Person: I’m sorry I yelled at you before. It wasn’t very nice. But I’m not sorry about the other things I said.
Dear Person: am I horrible?
Dear Person: yes – I am.
Dear Person: you see, I can’t imagine loving anyone. I don’t think I can feel love.
Dear Person: in my head, I told him that I didn’t know him, and I wouldn’t be sad if he died. I would cry – I cry when there’s a funeral on TV for a fictional character – but I wouldn’t miss him.
Dear Person: it was true.
Dear Person: I’m so fucked up, it’s not very funny.
Dear Person: I want to be alone.
Dear Person: I don’t want to walk on egg shells and broken glass. Flay me open and take out my heart instead. My soles are bloody and worn to the bone. I can’t walk anymore.
Dear Person: I’m tired of the fighting and the tension. I’m tired of all the tears.
Dear Person: I think I’m just tired.
Dear Person: I don’t know how I’ll feel tomorrow. Is that alright?
Dear Person: faceless, nameless out there in the void, I don’t know who you are, but thank you for hearing what I couldn’t say.
Dear Person: I don’t want to be dragged into the middle of a war that isn’t mine.
Dear Person: I wish I was stronger.
Dear Person: I wish I wasn’t a coward.
Dear Person: let me amend a previous statement. I love some people. There are times I want to leave everything – just drive until I’m somewhere else – but I would miss those people.
Dear Person: this is true.
Dear Person: please believe in me. Even if you aren’t real, please believe.
Dear Person: keep me walking. Poke me, prod me. Pull me up and push me. Drag me. If I stop walking, I’ll die.
Dear Person: on a lighter note, the acrylic nail on my right pointer finger is probably the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.
