I don't know what to write today, Jamie. I've been trying to think of things to convince you. I'm not sure what I'm trying to convince you of at this point. I'm just playing this game one step at a time- I haven't got all my emotions and feelings sorted out just yet. I'm working on it. I think though that I have one thing figured out- I miss you. This isn't a confession of some undying love for you, in fact it's far from that. I can't explain my motives because I don't know them myself, but I know I miss you. Is that acceptable? Shit, Jamie, is anything acceptable in this fucking black hideous world of ours?

...

Sorry, Jamie. I've just been thinking a lot as of late. Not pleasant thoughts, either. Like thoughts of how you probably don't even give a fuck about anything I'm writing to you, and maybe you think that I'm just some weird kid who needs to get over you. And sometimes when I'm alone I ponder things like how I could kill myself and no body would know... nobody is watching me, Jamie. I could do anything and the world wouldn't have to know, not for a while anyways. Not that I'm suicidal, I like living. Sort of. But I would never kill myself. I don't think I would, anyways. I'm not insane, I don't think. Just.... strange I suppose. You think I'm strange, and I know that for a fact because you told it to all of your little friends. Every time I think of you and your friends I want to puke. I want to throw away your vile, disgusting, bitter, horrible, terrible, lying face.

Then I remember, Jamie.
How you changed afterwards. Maybe I'm just crazy.

I don't want to write anymore today, Jamie.
Sorry.




Sincerely,
Me 11-30-10