letter no. twelve

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May 14, 1930

Dear Luke,

When you are reading this I am already dead. 

You are probably wondering why? If you really do, well you claim to. I wanted to leave, it is simple as that. I am tired of everything. The world is ugly.

Isn't it a shame that broken things will always be broken. Even the beauties are betrayed, butterflies with punctured wings. Flowers with dead petals. Mocking birds with senseless killing. Human beings with crippled everything.

I won't miss you, because I am dead. I won't feel anything. I never felt anything in life anyways. We all feel nothing, the strongest part of us is the darkness in our hearts. 

Love, Elliane

p.s. Like the moon we borrow our light. I am nothing but a shadow in the night

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