Letters to No One

Dearest,

Our last chat has left me with a kind of tasteless melancholy… melancholy that is targeted at nothing and triggered by everything – the coffee pot, the building next-door, the frayed cloth slipper on the pantry floor. I dare not venture into rooms that hold the real memories. You left some of your clothes on the bed in your room, and I found a pair of socks while I was doing the laundry. Yesterday Max brought me a belt of yours in his mouth. And locked somewhere in these rooms is the smell of you. I dont open any doors for fear of losing you again, wholly.

I dont want to go over what we said. We were both hurt, angry, scared. Its funny how these emotions keep coming back to us from childhood. Adulthood just brings exhaustion. I watch our children play in the mornings and wonder what I am to do now. They ask me why you have left.

I am sorry for what I have done to you, and to our children. But I do not regret it. Whether you understand or not my motivation for doing so, I dont know; I am thankful nonetheless that you have accepted this arrangement.

Love,

X

Letters to No One

There were nights you and I would make the most childish promises; hook our pinkies together and promise to be blood sisters. We stopped short of slashing our palms..we were still kids then, no matter how grown up we thought ourselves to be.

I dont speak to you now. You called me on it once in your tear-filled voice. You accused me of breaking our promise and I denied it. There was no promise. I didn’t make a promise. I dont remember.
But I did.

You hung up and I went to my desk, sketched a picture of you and tore it to pieces. I was the first among many traitors that would walk through your life and disregard it. We were twelve.

Letters to No One

Dear fucktard,

I do not want to visit your baby. I dont want to congratulate you. Basically, all I’ve got to say with regard to you is FUCK OFF!

That, and get the fuck out of my family’s “circle”.

Thankfully never yours,
Me.

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Letters to No One

Dear God,

I wanted to ask you, being not human and all, if you have any sensation of pain. Maybe this feeling that us humans so often experience was a byproduct of some sort, a glitch in programming lets say…because God, if you loved us, each one of us individually as you claim, *and* you felt pain, none of this would ever happen. I dont see the point of it, in “the greater scheme of things”. That poor child.

I know you’re angry, God, that I’m questioning you like this. But I”m hurt. And I’m disappointed. I dont blame “Satan”. Heck, if you’re simply letting shit happen to prove a point to some outcast then..well…that says enough. It says enough about being loved, valued and whatever the fuck else. So I dont blame Satan. I blame you. Because you’re supposed to be more powerful. Crush Satan if you “love” us. If this isnt just about your pride.

Oops. I called God proud. I think I’d like it in Hell though, seeing as any fuckhead that worships you goes to heaven, regardless of their behaviour. I think all the good people will be in Hell. For being..good…*people*…and not good worshipers. I’d throw some more things at you, but hey, you’re busy managing the universe. You dont have time for this.

Oh wait, you exist outside of time. Right. Either way.

I’m going to go do some good while I’m alive. Make a couple people smile, protect my sister, feed the hungry even..because with all your divinity, you still seem to have got it wrong.

I dont know what more to say.
Stupid idea. stupid letter.

Letters to No One

Dear words,

Please come back. I miss playing with you.

Love,
Your lonesome play-buddy.

Letters to No One

A forward email claiming we’re friends. Nice.

Am I really supposed to send it back to you? To prove we’re friends? Or…fuck..I dont even know. What do you want me to do with this? After..what? four years? And not a word in between.

I’m not replying or forwarding this back or..anything really. I dont need this right now. I dont need you. I have enough shit to deal with. If I do decide to reply, you’ll have to wait for it. I’m not cruel. This time I’m putting myself first. I need to do that. For a week. Till the 28th. And then I’m back to being..me.

The me that you didnt like. Or perhaps, a better me. A me without you. A stronger me.

Of course, i could be severely delusional, because sometimes I feel like the same little girl I was four years ago, in desperate need of someone to hang on to, and no one to reach.

Letters to No One #3

…

I’m

…

…

scared.

Letters to No One #2

Cryptic statements and utter bullshit. Fuck this.

I hate you.

I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you. And you’re too thick to see it, but everyone else does too. You’re bringing us all down.

Fuck you.

Fuck you!

It’d be better if you just get the fuck lost and never come back again. Better for you, better for every fucking one.

Fuck you. Because you know it, because I know and you know I know it and everyone else knows it. You count for shit. So just fucking get the fuck out of here. Stop wasting the world’s resources on your sick, worthless self and get the fuck lost because you’re not wanted. Like pond scum is not wanted. Like shit thats flushed down the toilet is not wanted.

Fuck you and good riddance.

Letters To No One #1

Dear X,

I’ve left you out in the proverbial rain wondering where I am and how I am. I’m sorry.

I wont make up excuses now. I am busy, and I am tired..but if I really wanted to talk to you, I would. More often than I do now. The truth is, i dont see the two of us clicking. Its not that you’re not a good person. You are, very much so. But you either have too many walls up, or there just is nothing more to you than…this. Whatever it is, I’m too tired to keep smiling..too tired to carry on a shallow conversation because you wouldnt understand if I went deeper, and in all honesty, I wouldnt want you to.

I’m a truly sorry for having lied and lead you on. If that counts for anything..I know you’ve been hurt and if it were up to me, I’d be the last person to do it again, but I’m not.

I hope you find it in you to forgive me some day.

Not yours,

Gin.