I burned all the letters I wrote to you. They were filled with the words I always wanted to say but could never muster up enough strength to do it. You were far away. I knew things would go back but only to fall apart again. I remember how you said you would trace circles around my hipbones until I finally fell asleep. It’s my fault. It was never real. Yet two years later and I find myself hugging the blade. Wanting the pain….the blood to spill over. I wrote you your first letter when you were away, merely consisting of three words that I was dying to say. You came back for your trip and everything was so lost. I got high and wrote your second letter. It was all about the weather and how we kissed in the rain. You took me downtown to a crowded little coffee shop and that’s when you broke me the news. You were leaving me. For good. I went home and wrote your fourth letter. It was about home much I hated you and you were the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I cried myself to sleep hoping it was all a dream. I woke up hung over. It was a Tuesday and it was cold. I had on your old t-shirt and it all hit me again. I wrote you the fifth letter saying that I’m sorry and I’ll never make a mistake again...just take me back. You showed up at my door that night and I was just hoping you were there to take me back; but then I saw the box of all the things I gave to you. The box that had all our photos and promises in it. I begged you to stay and hear me out. You stormed out saying you never wanted to see me again. I couldn’t take it. I grabbed the pills. I grabbed the blade I grabbed the vodka. I grabbed my mouth I grabbed my stomach. I couldn’t handle the pain. I took a drink. Swallowed the pills. Saw the red pour and dance on the floor. I grabbed a pen I grabbed some paper. I was going to write your sixth letter but the sixth letter never came…
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18.Writing for the sake of writing.
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