To my dearest Mara, my ghost who relentlessly haunts me, my demon who possesses me into feeling like I am in love,
One day I will exorcise you out of my head. Unfortunately for the both of us, exorcisms don't count as one of my healing abilities, which I think is bullshit. But there's much worse shit to worry about. Such as the fact that despite all you have put me through, I cannot wash my hands of you. What a cruel joke that no one can physically harm me, but you can leave this lasting emotional pain that burns and consumes me from the inside. What a cruel irony it is that the only cure is your touch -- how I long for your skin against mine, how just a kiss from you would be like a drop of water on my parched tongue in this hell you've condemned me to. I cannot help but eternally thirst for you. You are a drug that I am addicted to -- you are the only drug I cannot get sober from. Fuck the people who say, "You shouldn't drink poison just because you're thirsty," because at least the suffering is proof that I'm still alive -- and living means that there is still time to change the course of our paths. And what if I like the way the poison makes me feel, anyways? Or perhaps I've just learned to turn this pain into pleasure in order to survive this torment of wanting you, yearning for you.
Were you the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden, or the snake? Regardless, I am both Eve and Adam, deceived and punished, and there is no grace, no relief.
What the fuck do you want from me? Does it amuse you to watch me crawl back to you each time? Does it satisfy you when you completely drain me of all I have to offer -- or is it never enough for you? They said I was the knight, and you were the dragon I was meant to slay. But I ask you this: am I your lover, or am I your plaything? What game are you playing, that you can so easily come in and out of my life whenever you please? That you can break whatever you want and cause as much damage as you desire -- and I let you?
Why the fuck am I letting you keep doing this?
Perhaps it's because I enjoy this game, too -- because I know as long as you enjoy it, I will get to see you again each time. And it is better than never seeing you again because I don't care what is best for me if that best isn't you.
Yet I look forward to the day where I tire of this game and finally end it. I accept that it has to be me who ends it, not you. And right now I have no desire to. The ending doesn't feel quite right yet. Though one may argue that by prolonging this mess, I am ruining the entire narrative like a television show that should have ended ten seasons ago -- but we did agree that we write our own stories, no? I will not have endured all this garbage and torture for a bullshit ending. Your intentions may be different -- they usually always are -- but I want this to be worth my time. And God knows I have plenty of it.
Until next time, with love, Noah Elliot Simon Shaw
P.S. -- I must confess, while I did receive your "last" letter, I actually have not read it yet. In fact, it got lost and was never recovered. I can only assume it was along the lines of: "you hate me and you wish to never speak to me again." Your lies have grown predictable, my dear. Whatever ending you had tried to write, fate had called your bluff and rejected it.
I shall hear from you again, soon.
