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.
