Here is my letter to you, words written to eyes never seeing. Words breathed on the down swing of sighs, the shadows of whispers, the hallucinations of rumors. You don't know me, you won't love me, you think you do but it can't be like this. This romance, a triumph of illustrated fairy tales, this happy ending framing the elaborate laugh track sitcom of chance. It can't be you, it's too obvious. You think you're ready, you think you know me, but we're victims of the same fatal flaw. It's like looking in a mirror of shimmering delusion, my counterpart in disappointment. It's cruel how similar we are, thinking that the other might be this long lost long awaited solution to our aching hearts. Cry out to the world, beg its blocked ears for the justice we have long demanded and little deserved.
A week later, and turns out I was right. Turns out I'm always right.