dear-redacted

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [redacted],

It doesn't matter that they left. Or that you left them. It doesn't matter that they don't love you and don't care. You have to keep going. You can't give up. You can't die. You can't kill yourself.

You still have birds to feed. And a cat to take care of. And a floor to sweep and mop tomorrow. And presents to give. And so many books on your shelf that you haven't read yet. And tea bags to steep and sip in your silly mugs. And shows to finish watching with your loved ones. And new shoes to buy. And a team at work who needs you. And new outfits to wear and take pictures in. And recipes to cook and taste. And wings to build. And plants to water. And sunsets to watch, and stars to gaze at too.

You still have things to live for, see? You're still needed. There are still things to look forward to.

Don't give up yet.

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [Redacted],

I am dispensable. Replaceable. Unessential. Superfluous. Unwanted. Unneeded. Expendable.

I am the friend who doesn't get invited. The friend who is there to listen but who goes unheard. I am the friend who gets plans cancelled on them and excuses made and texts left on read.

What is it about me that drives people away? What is it about me that makes me so undesirable?

I thought I'd finally found a group of people who cared. I guess I was wrong. I guess it's true some things never change.

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [redacted],

I have so very little hope left. I am empty inside. It feels as though nothing is worthwhile because I'm convinced nothing is real. I feel reckless and dispassionate. After all, what risk is there in a dream?

All my troubles are returning and I am left standing amongst them with my arms spread wide. I am drowning in this burning lake of my own mind.

Release me from this torment.

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [redacted],

I've always said I wanted to be a superhero or know a superhero. Little did I know (until today) I've known one all along. Better yet, I've been best friends with one for 6 years.

What makes a hero a hero? Google says, "a person who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities." I definitely admire you. And you are one of the most courageous, outstanding, and noblest people I know.

You have saved my life more times than you even know. You have saved my life many times without saying a word, just by merely existing. There have been many a night where I planned to forever sleep but the knowledge that I wouldn't be able to spend another day with you kept me awake. There were days where the only thing that kept me alive was your sadness that I knew would overtake you if I was gone. I was saved by the moments we would miss together if I left. So I stayed. And I've never thanked you for that.

So I thank you now, [redacted], my superhero, my best friend. Thank you, forever and always.

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

i used to dream of roads

and city streets

of highways and storefronts

of streams and forrests

of mountains and oceans far away

i used to dream of us and we

i used to dream

i used to dream

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [redacted],

There is a reality where you and I are soldiers together in a war between good and evil. Where we work side by side as the best fighters the world has ever seen. Where we are each other's shield, each other's better half, each other's right hand. And everyone fears us, as they should. The blood of our enemies pools at our feet and we have not been defeated once. We are a sight to behold on the battlefield together.

Subsequently there is a reality where that exists and one day in a particularly gruesome and violent battle, I'm wounded fatally and you hold me as I die in your arms and my last words to you are, "I love you. I'm so sorry." You watch the light leave my eyes but the blood still pours out of the wound. You hold me close, let a few tears fall, close my eyes, lower my body to the ground, and let your grief turn to rage towards the people who killed me.

They say that was the most casualties ever suffered in a single day from one person. And after that day my body was never found and you were never seen again.

Is it wrong for me to wish we were there?

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [Redacted],

I know it's only been a few days but it has felt like a life time.

I'm in one of those moods that scare me. One of those moods where nothing helps and everything upsets me and I think maybe I could actually do it. One of those "I can't do anything right", "I break everything I touch" moods.

I wonder if you even still love me? I switch between feeling like it's no wonder you hate me. I mean, I hate me too. And feeling like how dare you hate me after everything I've done for you. But then I feel selfish and apathetic and spiral further down into feeling like a waste of space.

Everything would be easier if I was dead. We talk sometimes about reincarnation. Maybe it's time this life was done and I started a new one. Yes, I know there are so many more things I need to do, but maybe I don't want to. I'd probably just end up ruining those things too.

Anyways, I'm sorry. I hope you're okay.

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [redacted],

Sometimes I have these moments where it just hits me how quickly and suddenly people can die. I just randomly am reminded of how temporary life is. It really scares me how quickly you can lose people; how quickly people who mean everything to you can just disappear in an instant. I may not be scared of dying but I'm terrified of losing the people I love.

I'm paranoid about losing the people. About not saying everything I need to say to them and then never being able to say those things again. About getting a call and being told someone I love is dead. About never seeing them face to face again or hearing their voice again. It keeps me awake at night.

Why does life have to be so cruel?

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [redacted],

Do you know what you're doing to me? Do you know how you make me feel? Are you doing these things on purpose - begging me to propose, to confess, to admit my feelings for you? Or is it all pure, innocent accident - just me mistaking your platonic affection for more?

I don't know what to do anymore, [redacted]. I have searched in hundreds of drops of water. I have questioned hundreds of trees and leaves. I have asked thousands of stars. And none of them can tell me what I should do or give me answers that make sense.

My options lay before me, these:

1. Confess.

2. Wait.

3. Ask you.

4. Stay quiet.

5. Forget about you.

I have tried to forget you, forget my attraction to you, forget my love for you, but it seems impossible. Even when laying with other lovers my mind wonders to your laugh, your lips, your eyes, your voice, your passions.

Confession seems foolish when the threat of losing you completely hangs with it, as well as embarrassment if you do not feel the same. Perhaps I am prideful after all.

And waiting is agony, and so is staying quiet. I'm not sure how much longer I can do those things anyways.

So, [redacted], what do I do?

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [Redacted],

Who am I? I have wondered my whole life and there were moments, I know, where I knew who I was. But those moments are long gone and I cannot seem to remember them. I cannot seem to remember who I thought I was in those flashes of time.

My whole life I've tried to be so many things, so many people. Even if I sit and meditate and ponder on who I really am, I'm not sure I'll ever uncover that secret. Is it because I cannot be honest with myself? Is it because I've lied to myself for so long that I cannot possible understand what truly makes me me? I try to break myself down into categories I can comprehend but I am already broken into tiny confused fragments. Is it that I am too complicated? Or am I unbelievably simple to the point of misunderstanding my own thoughts and feelings? I do not know anymore.

I do not know myself or even how to find myself. Someone please tell me where to start looking.

Sincerely,

me?

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [redacted],

I always thought myself lucky. Lucky to know you. Lucky to be your friend. Lucky to know who your secret posts were about. Lucky to be the one who could hold your hand or rest my head on your shoulder or play with your hair. Now I wonder why I ever felt that way.

Surely I am not the only one who knows the code names or the pinings you tried to hide from the public. Certainly I am not the only one who you let touch you in those ways.

It was silly of me to ever think myself special and the moment I realized that was when I saw you with them and I was not meant to be there, not meant to see. You do not know this, of course, but it plagues me. Your indifference haunts me day and night. I cannot get you out of my head, thus my heart breaks over and over. At this point, I think it might be only particles of pained dust mixing into my blood stream.

I wish I was still lucky.

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [Redacted],

I am evil. I am profoundly immoral and malevolent. What I'm doing is wrong - so so very wrong - and yet I am continuing to do it knowing full well it will break you.

I am slowly inching my way under your skin. I know I cannot keep this up forever but the rush is too much to ignore, so I continue. I continue, knowing that when I rip myself from your flesh you will be left with nothing and you will collapse into dust like shattered stained-glass windows in an abandoned church.

The guilt I feel at the knowledge of what I am doing to you eats away at me, gnaws on me like a starving dog day and night, never leaves my side - a loyal companion. And it is not enough to stop me.

I've tried so hard to be the epitome of good, but it was never enough for you. It was never enough for them. And now I understand the villians, the misunderstood outcasts stretching for a single drop of love in this cruel world, going to any means necessary to get it, to satisfy their parched lips and hearts. I have become like that villain - pining for love and never reaching it.

And I say again, darling: Run. Run and never look back. I am evil.

Sincerely and apologetically,

me

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [redacted],

I'm kind of sad, you know. I feel trapped and I have this incalculably massive feeling of not belonging. I don't feel like I have a home. This house doesn't feel like home, but neither have any of the other 16 houses I've lived in. This state doesn't feel like home, and neither do any of the other 43 states I've been to. I've moved and moved and moved and nowhere was right. Nowhere I go or stay feels like home. They all just feel like a house or a place to stay for a little while. So consequently I don't feel like I belong anywhere. It's a very lonely feeling.

I kind of relate to that thought - I feel like I'm destined to be alone forever. And I'm not saying that dramatically or like "woe is me" or anything. I just genuinely feel like I'm going to inevitably be alone. And I don't want that, but I feel like it's sort of my inescapable destiny or whatever. Yes, I might be able to date someone here and there but it's never going to last and I don't want to be a heartbreaker. It's always going to end and then I'll be alone again and I feel like that's going to be an unbreakable cycle for me no matter how hard I try to find someone to be with forever. I'm just going to end up being alone.

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters To You

Dear [redacted],

My mother asked me today if I was happy. I didn't know what to say. I gave her some stupid philosophical response along the lines of: "What is the definition of happy? Who can really know the true meaning of happiness or what defines 'happy' for each person?"

But really I just didn't know how to tell her 'no.' How do you look the woman who gave you everything right in the eyes and say, "No, I am not happy, and I'm not sure I ever have been."

She asked me, then, if I was at least content. I wanted to say, "we're getting farther and farther away from what is accurate," but instead I said, "I'm not sure. I guess."

What I wanted to say, but did not, will not ever say, was, "mother, I've only ever been content once, and that was when I was with her. And now she's far away and I miss her, and perhaps that is why I will never be content again."

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [redacted],

I'm so lonely that, despite the fact that I know it's stupid, I would rather be in another toxic relationship than be alone.

But really, ideally, truly, I'd like to be with you. Why is that so hard? Why is that so much to ask for? We talk about it all the time and just when I think maybe you're serious you find someone else. You find someone real. And it's terrifying.

Because I know my choices now are wait for you and maybe risk being alone or choose to be in another toxic relationship. And I think I've already made my choice.

Sincerely,

me

[dear-redacted]

Unsent Letters to You

Dear [redacted],

I had a moment of contentedness today and it made me realize I don't need to be happy, I just want to be content. I just want that soft feeling of peace. That feeling like maybe everything is going to be okay after all. That moment that you want to live in forever.

I'd be okay staying there - in that moment.

Sincerely,

me