January 24.
Dear Dawson, I'm always expecting things to get better, to improve. I always expect to see the light at the end of the tunnel one day, but it never seems to come. It always seems to hide just when I think it's going to come and save me. No one ever saves me. Nothing seems to get better for me. In fiction stories, someone always saves the damsel in distress.
Where is my knight in shining armor?
I guess that's why it's called fiction.
Things like that don't happen in the real world. People don't get saved and happiness never truly comes. What does happiness even mean?
Do you know, Dawson? I don't.
All I know is that everyone always seems to be striving for it, but no one ever finds it. I bet no one can ever truthfully say, "I'm happy."
Fiction always depicts happy endings and all that stuff, but it isn't like that really. It's not real. That doesn't happen. No one gets happiness, no matter how much they want it.
It's sad, really, that some people will never know what it's like to really love.
Or does real love exist? I'm sure you don't know either, Dawson.
Maybe love is fiction, too, and it doesn't even exist. Maybe I never loved you. Maybe you don't even love Amanda. Maybe it was just a way to distract ourselves from what we were really feeling.
I don't know about you, but sometimes, I really can't take it.
Sometimes, I really don't want to face reality.
Sometimes, I don't want to wake up, so I don't.
Sometimes, I wish I would never wake up. Never.
Do you ever wish that, Dawson?
No matter how beautiful the world is or how much I love someone, they can't help me. They can't take away my pain.
So, shouldn't I just rid myself of all pain?
Love,
Kindley.