#Letters to No One

[joeybass00]

Hey,

Hope you’re day is going great

I hope today you walked outside and the spring air took away your troubles for a second

I hope you woke up this morning with a smile on your face as the sun came in your window

I hope you picked the perfect outfit on your first try this morning

I hope your hair fell perfectly into place like you wanted it too

I hope your music had the perfect shuffle while you played it in the background of whatever you were doing today

I hope you had a moment to relax and forget about all the sadness and anxiety

I hope your tik toks made you laugh today

Cause I hope someone got to see that smile and it brightened their day up just as much as it used to brighten up mine

I could never know wether or not your day is good or bad anymore

But sometimes

I can still hope

The thought of you being in even the slightest bit happy gets me through my days

I hope you’re doing your best with everything

I’m proud of you

And I’ll always still care, wether you think I do or not

-J.T

[bunnyunderthebed]

i want to be enjoyed. i want to feel valuable under your touch, as if every inch of skin is sought after.

i want to be desired. not as a person, but as an object; as a trophy. something to be won, something to be conquered, something to be achieved and displayed to others as a symbol of your own value. i want to feel myself become drenched in your lustful drool as you devour me, bit by bit, so that nobody else can ever lay claim to me again.

i don't want to be useful. usefulness is the pretext i use to seek approval from others. approval is a lesser drug; far easier to acquire, but far less potent.

i don't even really need to be loved. love is fickle, unpredictable, and conditional. love is a nigh inaccessible drug that impairs the mind and, eventually, damages the soul.

value, worth, these things don't fade or expire like love and usefulness, and they continue to exist regardless of anyone's opinions in the matter.

i can count on one hand the amount of times i've been made to feel valuable like that. that's a drug you get hooked on instantly, with the hardest withdral you've ever heard of. something about that moment when it all connects and I see the look in their eyes as they look back at me...

Hunger. Desire. Greed. Lust. Obsession. Dominion.

that look makes me melt so very completely, but only when it's genuine, because you can't fake it. the moment you try to fake it is the moment you fall flat on your face. trying to fake it defeats the purpose of the feeling, and makes me spiral depressively.

[stellarumm00]

love, me.

To my mother,

I only ever wanted to make you proud.

And to my father,

I wish you cared.

To my sisters,

I pray you saw

Just how much I loved you.

And to my best friend,

Who showed me love,

And was always there.

To my lover,

May we meet one day,

Whether on this earth

Or another plane.

And to the world around me,

I hope I was enough.

-Stella Rumm

[crmsnmth]

A Letter to Someone I'll Never Talk To Again: Part One

Dear "Muppet"

Most people start off a letter by asking how you are, but I don't want to waste words on something that doesn't affect my life. I hope you're doing well, but it's really none of my bsiness in the end. I wish like hell that that wasn't true, but wishes are for wishful thinking. You know me, always the life of the party.

I haven't changed all that much since our time. Okay, that's a lie. I've changed a lot. See after you left, and everyone watched me go down, I vowed to change. That I would someday change back into the person I was at my happiest. I thougth that's what mattered, being happy.

The problem with this fool proof plan was that I was a fool with guesses. I was at my happiest with you, so that means I'll never be that person again. That person is officially dead and buried and his rotting corpse is why my breath stinks to badly in the morning. It leaves a foul taste too.

I knew you were with him during the last month of our relationship. I always wonder if you ever figured out that I figured it out, playing Sherlock Holmes but with a far less interesting story that you already know. I knew he was there while I was at work. And I bit my tongue because I loved you so much. I loved the person I had fallen in love with.

That person I fell in love so deeply with, was different than the one you were at the end. And I guess that's kind of a given fact since you were fucking someone else while we were in our relationship. I've had some bad relationships, the one after you especially difficult, but one thing i can say is that I've never once cheated on any partner I've had. Even if I wanted to, I never did it. Not even has payback. I didn't really give all thought about it.

Why would I? It never mattered what you did. From the very first time you stepped into that bar to the very last time you walked away from me, I knew I was yours. I was yours and I would do anything for you. So I even forgive you for all of this stuff too.

That doesn't mean I wasn't a problem too. I was caught in a delusional world I had built in my head, and I wouldn't get out of it until you left me. I think that was the shock that snapped everything into place. The catalyst, you could say. I was a liar and a con artist with the charisma of Charles Manson. I could get anyone on my side before you. I used those skills. I did it constantly. Tell a lie, something so far off and unreal that was obviously lie, and I'd wait for sometone to take the bait. Once they took the bair, the game was on and I ould try to convince someone that I was right, even when they knew I wasn't. It worked more often than not, and looking back, that frightens me so much. I was so good at it. Either that or everybody was somehow in on the joke. I did it too twice that I can think, but that number should be higher.

I really lost it after you left. And you saw it. The last phone call I ever got from you was the morning after a very awful evening. I don't remember the evening. I was mixing cocaine and being black out drunk. Somehow, I managed to piss everybody off and was taken outside to get the shit kicked out of me. You called the next morning, after hearing abot the beating and my awful behavior. Yout told me your roommate was super pissed at me. I tried to apologize on Facebook and maybe find out what happened, but he read my message and proceeded to block me/ That was it then. That one less than a minute long phone call.

They'll be letters soon, but for now I'm tired and my eyes itch behind my glasses. Time to start the ritual you loved so much in the beginning but by the end hated. And that's how it goes. People change, and there is absolutely nothing one could do. Our time together meant and still means almost everything to me, and at the way it's going, I'll be seeing you when my eyes close for all of eternity. Even without well-respected no contact clause. I almost broke when I came across your picture in a box of random papers. But I didn't. And the number I refuse to delete from my sim card may not even be your number anymore. I've probably gone through 100 different numbers since yo split.

I have to stop now, or I never will.

Love You Until the Sun Explodes, "Peanut"

[frost-writes-stuff]

I watched you slip out of my grip. I watched the love in your eyes fade away. And that broke me. And then, as if it was nothing, you scattered my pieces all around, leaving me behind to suffer. Took me a while to pick up all the pieces and put them back together. But I survived. So, yes, I changed. You changed me. Don't stand in front of me and beg for forgiveness now. I've given you too many chances, I've forgiven you too many times to fall for your lies again. But hey, thanks for opening my eyes and helping me see the rotten flesh you have inside that you call a heart. Thank you and good bye.

[hiraethsblogs]

I looked at you as you kept talking to someone. Sometimes I think I have forgotten you, all these versions of you in my head, which one should I grasp, which one should I let fade. You know there are so many glimpses of divine men around me, but men don't bring divinity, you do. Men don’t bring bliss, you do. 

[juliettevorelie]

001.

[corvid-corpses]

one thing that every trans person had to learn early on is that their happiness, and their right to a healthy, safe life, will always come second to that of a cis person.

[joeybass00]

I’m trying my best with this

You hurt me and yet I still make every one of my decisions with the intention,

Of not hurting you back

For what?

Everything I do gets spun into something else anymore

I give up

If you truly believe I’ve been trying to hurt you all the sudden like the others did

Than there’s nothing left I can do to change that

I still wish you the best,

I always had

-J.T.

[magpie-mutters]

Epistula ad Narcissum, primum

To Narcissus,

Are you so caught in your reflection That you cannot see the crumbling foundation The earth shifting beneath your feet, Letting you sink into it like quicksand

Are you so caught in your reflection That you would continue to starve Deprived of true intimate connection Every friendship around you at the core A one way street a spider spinning an unanchored web Unsteady because at any second you’ll drift away in the breeze

Are you aware of how many coddle you How shielded you are Like a toddler people allowing for your damages

Gifting you chance after chance Oh no he can’t control that Oh no he is too simple too helpless We have to shield him for he doesn’t have the strength to stand alone

You are weak.

You think otherwise but rather than look at why you’re untethered - unanchored, you plead to everyone around you to keep you in place - to bolster you.

If you stop your push and pull your cruelty and kindness like ropes binding them to you then throwing them overboard they’ll actually have a chance to look

To see your for the battering ram you are, willfully incapable of creating the fabric of companionship, love, and respect those around you are trying to form. You check their tightly woven threads to others, picking at them until you know you have just one holding them to you - one that you have the power to cut and one that you can marionette them with. Does that manipulation make you feel strong?

Is it lonely, Narcissus, to lack the way you do. To see no true equal but fight to believe you do. Do you ache for what some of us can weave, the thick silk ribbons gently wrapping around ourselves and those around us, beautiful strings of colors warping together into a shared map. Does your fragile web seem gray? Do you tire of your reflection?

Do you take joy in hurting people? Does unraveling other people make your web feel stronger? Do you see how fragile you are, little narcissus? A spiders delicate legs can snap so quickly, a flower can be plucked and its petals so easily crushed underfoot. A shiny toy is so easily snatched. A spider so easily plucked out of its web by a hungry magpie.

Do you fear me little narcissus?

~Magpie

P.S.

To Narcissus’s Pond,

He finds you beautiful because you reflect the most beautiful parts of him. But a pond is teeming with life and beauty of its own. It need not reflect a simple man and a man will keep away everything a pond needs to thrive. It will keep away other creatures and life. It will drive away any other sustenance. He leaves you starving and starves the forest around you. You mean so much to him because of what you give him not who you are. A pond can be wise and ancient and powerful but not when it’s bowing to the whim of such a man. I beg you, flourish little pond.

~Magpie

[ask-the-eyes-of-god]

To My Dearest Friend,

I just wish to say I’m sorry. People keep telling me that your death wasn’t my fault, but I can’t help but feel like your blood is on my hands. Maybe if I were have waited to tell you, you’d still be here.

I wish I could say that me and your brother have been taking your death well, but you know I could never lie to you. He… god, as much as I hate speaking ill of the grieving, your brother has gone positively mad. He’s shut himself up in his office— the last I heard from him was your funeral.

It’s probably for the best I don’t utter a word of what I told you that day. It would make, not only him, but me start to spiral. It’s selfish, I know, but somethings are better left unsaid.

But there are still so many things I have left to say. Things I wish I could’ve told you when you were alive. Like— how much I truly enjoyed our time together. I miss how you would always stop whatever you were doing just to chat with me. Or, when you’d come over to visit, you always call my place “one of the fanciest things you’ve ever seen.” We both know that your house and mine were no better than one another.

I miss watching you work away at whatever project you had in front of you. So strong— so dedicated. You’d always be so focused that it took you a moment to notice me.

You were a good man, my friend. I wish your final days hadn’t ended the way it did. If only I weren’t so busy, maybe I could’ve helped you. But I know it’s a fruitless effort now. You’re gone.

And I suppose this is my final goodbye.

Farewell, friend.

Sincerely,

Terry.

[bigarcade]

I wonder when I got into the habit of writing messages to nobody.

[crmsnmth]

Just in Passing

Did she ever mention me? Just happy she was with you and not me? Did she say those words and then come home to me? Hearts on her sleeve and Magic cards on the floor of her truck It hurt even more as she insulted my intelligence

Was I ever brought up? The used to be boy she broke The boy she drove to insanity Or was I more of a scream in a hurricane? Did my presence ever really mean anything? Just enough that I can feel a little guilt It doesn't need to stay I just wanted you to miss me for a moment

Someone told me that you married her Traded hands for last names And someone else told me you got divorced already Who would have thought it wouldn't last? But I guess we have come common ground Should we maybe build a dialogue? Let's call it karma I lost her hand, you lost her name I hope it drives you insane just like it did me

I never liked you even though we had never met Your face was blurred and you face appeared next to hers And I slit my wrists for the goodness of her smile Chicken out at the last second Like I always fucking do

Did she ever mention me? Just once?

[jesuschristsuperstarliveonnbc]

as i laid with my arm outstretched and my palm open, i wondered;

Am I a lonely adult reaching for God or a lonely child reaching for anyone?

— It’s not easy learning you’re damned for eternity when you’re 8

[intrinsicmotives]

Crushin

lost in thoughts of you,

I think you feel the same way ..

words we'll never say.

[inkstainednote]

Escapism (the yellow notebook collectives #3) {tws in tags}

Dear [redacted],

I didn't think of a poetic way to open this letter or well I did but I thought it stupid and scraped it during the transfer. If you want to know, it was of a problem I have already fixed.

There is no real reason I am writing you you at the moment other than the simple truth of me not having anyone else to write to. The loneliness is getting suffocating. I feel like I asphyxiate inside a locked room with its walls closing in a round me and the exit being too far away and constantly shrinking slowly but in a way that it's painfully clear that if I ever reach it, I will no longer fit through it. I cannot do anything but try to reach it in time and yet I never will.

Everything around me, dear, is too real or not real enough. Every morning I open my eyes and I realize my life is getting worse by the day and I hate it a little bit more. I'm unable to feel happiness by the things that used to provide me with it and escapism is becoming less intense and satisfactory and harder to achieve.

I suppose other people dive into alcoholism or substance abuse to find what is missing but I.... I find my escape through fiction. It is addicting. It takes you through space and time in different worlds, other's points of view, places where perhaps I'd be happier, healthier. Places where I could be full. Fiction offers me the relief of living as somebody else, a different person, a character who might be happy or at the very least not numb -if only for a while.

At times I find myself believing I'm a fictional character myself or maybe hoping that I could be. And then I proceed to violently hate myself for it because it is a thought not based on logic or facts but feelings and I am clever enough to not think with those. Scepticism and logic is how I survive. I protect myself by not being a dreamer, an emotional person, someone who believes in myths and fantasies and it works.

Of course even my ridiculous thoughts, dear [redacted], -and what you might think of me now, after that admission of disgust for anything magical or illogical- have a basis. It's not as much a basis, actually, it's more of a thin thread that they are woven into in order to keep me from diving into insanity. Because, you see, everything is a coping mechanism for me. Another protection measure, another way to hide from what hurts. My imagination then, is a desperate though futile, attempt to reason my existence. To understand why I turned out like this.

You see, I am not a person who cares. Apathy is so deeply encarved into my everything, like an infection and most days I think it's too late for me to find meaning in anything. However I eventually realised that it doesn't stretch onto fiction. I care, I feel for characters that are not real, for circumstances that have never happened and never will, for families and couples that don't exist and I even mourn deaths that haven't killed anyone. I have shed more tears onto a page of a book describing the tragic death of a young prince in the arms of his estranged king father's in a medieval, horrid kingdom than any event in my own life for the past five years. I feel heart-warmed when two characters find true love in each other after a long period of misunderstandings and trauma and yet romance I cannot feel for myself. I put the general well-being of a book character I like than of most people I know in reality.

There might be various medical terms to describe a condition such as mine, but all I know, dear [redacted], is that I can be described perfectly by the word miserable.

Love,

Inkstain