A whole other lifetime and mental state ago I would write you a letter filled with lies about how I’m doing wonderfully and this is my dream. But I am dying in my head, so I guess this is as good a time as ever. I have not been able to speak up for myself in 6 years but this is not my dream.
At night, I dreamt a darkness. 315 weeks later, it’s the same, only much darker. And you have been unable to unmask the falsities of my half-assed replies and unwilling nods, your vision fogged by the enthusiasm.
I do remember that one time I tried, to break out with your help, you sounded disappointed, nigh ashamed. You prayed Hades lose his grip on me, and that Yahweh come and keep me on the path, Michael and Gabriel to whip me if I looked to the back and Ahia Njoku to replenish me.
I have become inventive with planning my own life; and, when the universe seems to not agree, planning my demise. Time takes too long. I seem to have too much while the world crumbles and too little when I start to rebuild.
Did You Read: My Love And My Foe
Humans are fickle and my “Lord Soul” cannot leave them to suffer their own insufficiencies. I, however, do not want to be the human they rely on. I’m only available for their use because I’m avoiding being there for myself.
Mother, I do not know what I am doing. I have no solid reason for doing it. I mostly sadly, do not know what I want for myself. The idea of that I lost being the one for everyone else.
You will not see this in time. That breaks my heart the most. But I just hope that you get it. That, in a hopeful future, would be an indication that I got up to start out on one of the lives I have planned for myself; or I took one of the routes to my demise. Either way, this letter is an apology.