Letter i.

62 13 5

Letters to no one in particular #1
Straight from the notes on my phone.

I'm tired of burning to bright, too fast. And I feel like I'm going to burn out soon.

My skin is going to curl up and dry, like a summer leaf in autumn. My eyes are going to lose the little pigment they have, and my bones will turn brittle and like sawdust.

How did it take me so long to figure the truth out?

People like us, people like us are unheard of. We're that mute at the back of the class, the stuttering mess, the outcast.

People like them, they are unforgettable.

People like us don't find friendships for life.

People like them get a new friend every passing second.

We're the babies of the society. We're handed a compliment as a rattle and we spend our whole life delving over those meaningless, empty words.
But—
I'm going to burn out soon—a second later, a decade later, a century later.

Whenever it will be, it will be too soon for me.

Too soon for my new found self—too soon when I had just learned to make myself happy.

Too soon when I had just learned to smile without a fucking camera.

please be brave
unlike me,
Fatima

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