It completely broke me when you died. I held it together in public decently well, but any time I was alone I would just burst into tears. I became completely non-functional any time I thought about it and when I had time to think I was always thinking about it.
It always hurt, but it got easier to manage. Sometimes it still hurts even though I know that you are alive. A pang of loss every now and then for a loss that isn’t there– a phantom limb.
God, I have so many questions now. First and foremost, why you have a sawed-off shotgun in the first place? What even is your life?
Nobody on Earth remembers the events that I just described, and that’s because they didn’t happen. I mean, they did happen but they didn’t happen now. They got undone is what I’m saying. You would think after how long I’ve been doing this I would find a better way to describe what is happening.
I have to be here. I have to be the car crash and the driver and the argument with John and I have to be the funeral. It’s all much too much. And I have to keep saying "I’m sorry" like words are worth something when I’m about to kill you.
Sometimes I have a nightmare that there is a spider in my bed and it scares me so much that I wake up standing up beside my bed. Remember when we were roommates and you asked me one day what I was screaming about in the middle of the night the night before? Dream spiders.
This reality won’t exist anymore as soon as I can do something about it. This is only temporary. You’ll awaken into a new reality without any clue that this one ever existed. God, I sound so fucking crazy right now.
This whole time, you’ve stood and stared at me with intensity and desperation, like you thought a crazed and delusional killer had broken into your home, which is almost half untrue.
I want you to know that I moved heaven and Earth to try and prevent it from going this far. And by “moved heaven and earth” I mean that I moved an iron rod quickly and with force into the skull of the person that I thought was running the game. This iron rod to be exact.
All straight boys are poison and you should never let them into your heart for any reason, but everybody ignores that advice all the time.
For some reason I’ve got it in my dumbass head that if I keep talking long enough, I can work my way out of any problem in front of me. It doesn’t seem to be working right now, but maybe that’s because I haven’t been talking enough.