Sometimes I'm baffled by this degree of misfortune that seems to have befallen you ... us! No matter how hard I try, your only means of pleasure remains anything your moral compass points as sinful. As prohibited. As dark.
In all our years together, you do not, can not, seem to take delight in any pleasure you find is 'right'. The browser history, the chat windows, the text messages, the 'gajray' in the car, all fall pale in comparison to the black look you wear in absence of anything dark. Those oft repeated months of 'I'm not talking to you!' Have drained me to my core! Do you realise how frightening this monster of unending gloom is?
Years ago I thought that your choice of keeping 'loathsome' as an ID, had more to do with the youthful rage. It is now that I've understood what is it that you identify yourself with. I have failed. I've failed in making you see what beauty is, what a delight purity is! It is only now that I'm beginning to grasp what have you meant by, 'your innocence makes me hate you!' Heh ... Slow learner that I am.
And now I'm tired.
Last night, observing with others, how you sneaked away with her, I realised how hopeless a situation we're in (and what a mega failure I've been!). It's not about her. I take and trust your word: 'she's just a *itch!'
It's about how you are, and shall always be, found around *itches!
Trust me, there's no worse failure than this.
Hah ... The realisation that the person for whom you saved the best of you, finds pleasure only when it's ridden with a dire sense of guilt .... :) Its irony redefined!
I only wish it wasn't you who would've brought me this failure, love.
You had been my god!
There were only 7 Valium tablets. I took them all. I wish I don't survive. If I do, well, you know the count.
From a suicide note, 2009.
