Dear R

by 23:43 0 comments
Dear R,
I wish I could say I am not afraid. I wish I could tell you that it's not the end. I wish I could tell you that this won't happen again.
But I can't.
I just can't.
Why, you ask. Maybe because I'm a coward. Maybe because I'm lost. Or maybe because I can't lie to you. And yes, I still do remember our 'no lies' pact. Did you really think I'd forget?

But I can't tell you the truth either. It's too, too painful. Too unreal. Too pathetic. Too sad.

R, I feel broken. Like I'm lost. In a world of delusions. I don't know where to go now?
Eventually, I'll have to admit it. Won't I?

But I'm just too afraid. Of what? Of everything. Of nothing.

And it's almost scary how incurable I feel. Like I'm devoid of all hope. I'm devoid of my reality.

And I do hear them whisper. They distract me. A lot. They're the reason my heart beats so fast.

And you? You seem very stable. You seem like home to me. You seem like hope to me.

And I can't tell you how indebted I am to you. For? For everything.

Maybe this is not the end.
Maybe this is a new beginning. Maybe this time I'll be more than a mere nothing.

But that's the thing. They tell me I'm not. They keep whispering to me, don't they? And when they do, I try to shut them off. But, but I can't. I listen to them. They make me listen to them. They've always had this power over me, haven't they? They talk to me. I don't talk back. But they make me talk to them. And I feel numb at times.

R, I am scared.
No matter what I say, this does feel like the end. Like a way out of a hell. To another one.
It's like I'm living in two different hells. Each more painful than the last.

It's like I am devoid of bits and pieces of me. Like I'm devoid of myself, of everything that defines me.


I don't hear them whisper tonight. Maybe they won't. Maybe this time, they'll let me listen to silence for a while. It's been so long since I last talked to her. So long since I heard her song. It's beautiful, isn't it? It always is.

But those whispers drown it and then they get too loud. So I try to drown them. Myself.

I think I should go now. My ears can pick the essence of their whispers. They've grown used to them now. It's almost as if they're a part of me. But that's the thing: they tell me that they aren't.

But maybe they are. Maybe they always have been. I hope they are not.
But when have they ever told me the truth?

I think I'll go now. I hope you'll write back to me this time. I always do. I don't know if you will or not. But I want you to know that I don't really like the sound of these whispers. They, they scare me. And then, I feel alone. Even when I'm with them.

I've got to go now. Maybe I'll leave before they start whispering. I really wish I do.
I'll write to you soon. Take care of yourself.
Love,
Emm.