Dear Emilia,
It's been dark on my side of life. My parents are down my throat about everything. I'm zoning out, losing my self in the fantasies of my twisted reality.
Do you ever think of me?
Because I think of you. Every day of the week, every hour, every minute, every second. I can't seem to get you out of my mind and it's painful to know that you might not even know I exist.
I don't even know if I exist. The real me, not the version of myself who keeps on writing these letters to you in an attempt to feel some kind of remorse for myself. So you can feel remorse for me. Why would you? These mails probably don't even make it to you as your parents sift through them with greedy eyes, tearing into my feelings that I'm expressing to you.
It's okay though, you enjoy your fancy dinners with your expensive items. I can sit here, at my one story house staring out of my window into the black depths of space.
And there you are again, your vision popping up into my head.
I bite into my arm. Sinking my teeth in, I cry out as the pain gets intense and I apply more pressure. Metallic, slick liquid sloshes around in my mouth as I unhook my teeth from my right arm. Psychotic I know. You did that to me but I doubt you'll ever know.
I'm wasting paper as I write out your unrelenting bombardment on my feelings. These are my love letters, violent, dark, blissful if you think anything remotely like me.
It's love in a sick, evil, twisted way. The psychosis of you. Imprinting in my mind.
I would like a new journal Emilia, considering I've filled my last one of stories, poems and sketches of you. Just you.
Please Emilia, don't just give me the cold shoulder.
Sincerely, HY.
To my undying love.