Dear people of the Dream SMP,
I am what you make of me. Even if I begged and pleaded, still, the villain, I am. You never spoke such accusations aloud- but I heard them. Each "annoying", every wisp of a whisper, caught on the wind and traveled back to me. I lived poorly. By the time you find me, I'll be slumped down by my bedside- and you can't revive me this time, Dream. I don't want to come back. My body may be free, but my thoughts and feelings had already begun to slip into the endless obsidian by the time you brought me back. And with that, everyone has somehow left, even myself. I had fun with you all, but that was so long ago, I can barely remember what you used to be like. How young I was when troubles were ushered my way- but that was partially my fault, truthfully, and even with me holding them in the grip of my palm, they trickled out to you. And I do feel bad. I am not saying that I have it the hardest, but rather, that it was too hard for me, and it's never good to compare one another. Dying was too much, and I don't think I'll ever find the peace of mind or strength to slip into insanity, like Wilbur, to make it all go away. I'm sorry for acting so childishly. Originally, it was because I was a child, but each time I wanted to move on, the movement around me seemed to hold me in place. I hope the little maturity I have can be shown through this letter- I wouldn't like to be remembered as I am today. Maybe, when it's all said and done, it'll have been worth it to bear the weight of this world. That's what I'd truly like, someday...
Sincerely, Tommy
