22 Diaries. Story nine

Dear You

I hope you are (un)well.

I am writing because I have a lot to say, or a lot on my mind I should say.

You probably do not think about me. You probably erased me from your thoughts like chalk from a board. That is what you do, is it not? You erase everyone and everything that brings a whit of contemplation. A life on a white board, where you feel nothing. Where you see nothing but your notes.

You probably do not know what damage you caused. You probably are comfortably sat back in your chair already. I cannot blame you really, since I knew what you were. An egocentric, deprived of empathy, living only in his circle and caring only what’s in it. Like the robots that you build.

You probably do not know how much I cared. You probably do not realize how important it was to me. Being in a place where the sun shines at you in a midday. It does not matter, though, because you turned out to be a snake, swimming in the calm waters of my life.

Tell me now how do I explain myself to other people without telling lies. Tell me now why should I engage with people, knowing how cold they can turn.

I do not care what you have to say. I do not care if you hate me. I do not care if you like me. I do not care about anything anymore. I just want to be alone.

That is what they did to me.

(not) Yours Sincerely

© W. Donovan