my personal unsent email.
dear lenora,
could you accept the silence?
i know it isn’t fair to you,
nor is it to myself.
yet, i remain still anyway.
i only hear one thought
and it repeats until my brain hurts.
‘depart from my head’, i dare say.
you’re there, anyway.
legend goes the best way to defeat
overcome the villain
is to push and shove and ignore the being above.
there’s just one fear i’m dealing with.
what do you do when the being is too strong?
when—in a sick, sadistic, ever twisted way—you fall for evil?
fight, flight, or freeze.
and i choose ignorance.
no matter how beautiful the matter of the subject is.
no matter the pulse in my veins.
veins meaning places of shame.
—veins meaning areas of the warming of el corazon—
it’s better to live unaware than fight meaningless battles in your stomach.
all inside.
no one to talk to.
the window is cold.
i am foggy, deep in hazing thoughts.
you cross my mind.
i figure i must tell somebody.
who does not deserve to know about lenora?
but it hits me that the glass is closed.
mother dearest will not accept this.
not in my way, but the shriveled, shut case of hers.
denial is never the bridge to peace.
i should tell that to myself more often.
all this to say we have not talked in a while.
conversed, sat next to each other in the candle-lit rooms of second guessing and analysis.
it pains me to miss your laughs.
oh, your daily laughs.
you have been my source of comfort for ages.
or what feels like it.
confidence has risen out of stone, finally rocking out of safety zones.
i look into your eyes and i see a mentor.
most of anything.
one that helps me be myself, no matter the cost.
total comfort and safety, yes.
look.
but, look under the surface.
because, in the deepest, smallest corner of my pupil, there lies something else.
a spark.
the spark of hope, lighting up.
why, from you?
from you, lenora.
so, i have been tying up the rope of a journey to living in freedom.
twisting it and turning it around in my head.
replacing that spark with a massive, raging fire of frustration,
and,
burning myself on fire.
imagining you on the other side,
giving me a hell of a good time,
and sending it all up to flames.
i’d rather cut you off of the tightest knot within than risk your rejection of this passionate burn.
one that warms up the cold, the aching blues.
the ones of my darkest, pessimistic mind.
it has not been just.
i am sorry for that.
i know you have told me we have not talked.
perhaps, i have shut you out of my life.
but, you have, too.
the sight of your laughter not being used in my presence leaves me angry.
you never notice my feelings, only yours.
yes, admittedly so because of my absence, but that only hurts more.
because, as much as i hate to say it,
oh, dear lenora,
you will never read this letter.
or even care.
it’s not even a possibility.
you like weasels, i like weasels.
but, weasels are nothing compared to you, lenora.
i saw you today.
you’ve always had nice things to say about me.
at least, i hope so.
honestly, i hope many other things in addition.
i looked in your eyes—for just a second—
and that closeness was still there.
but, the distance, the pure distance between us, was far much more apparent.
and, so, like the miserable fuck that i am,
i messed everything up.
you probably feel like i don’t care.
you should know better.
i’m like a warped time machine from back to the future.
you should think of me—whatever your thoughts are—of the opposite.
maybe, then you’d realize i overthink every little conversation i have with you.
maybe then, lenora, you’d have a feeling, a strong one, an urge of something unspeakable.
in the meantime, search deeper.
have hope.
i have been avoiding you, because you have been avoiding me.
no.
fuck, i suck at this.
look. i have been avoiding you, because i desperately want to avoid the part of me that wants this. that likes this. that really likes this.
i viewed your hand once—just once— and felt truly mortified afterwards.
miss lenora, may you now know i never stopped wanting to speak to you.
we’ve just grown apart.
i am not a priority, i understand.
it just feels hurtful knowing you can live your life without thinking about me.
even if you miss this.
because, deep down inside, i know.
i know many things, but if anything, i know this.
i am writing this letter for a reason, a purpose, and you are not.
at the inconvenience of my presence,
at least accept my explanation of the shitty human i am and how much it self-sabotages itself at the thought of comfort.
someone to bring that.
i could never bring that.
you deserve better.
better than me.
i send you off with an understanding that the only reader of this message will be the loser of the battle.
something that could never be.
yet, in a weird way, maybe that is better,
lenora.
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