It was a love letter
written by her.
Each time she read it, she read it out loud to herself. "I am a teenager who loves you," the letter said. "I feel terrible saying I love you because I should be happy, but I can't. I can't be happy because I love you."
Next to the text were the words: "I can't forgive you for what you did. I can only live with myself for what you did."
"Yes, that's my handwriting," she whispered as if that would make it less painful.
She felt overwhelmed with shame as she crumpled up the letter and threw it into a garbage can.
She would dispose of many more letters as time went on.
YOU ARE READING
End of Rush Anthology
PuisiHave you ever felt so distracted by work that you had no time to enjoy your life? You've found that every day is a blur of deadlines and stress. Every evening you come home exhausted and ready to collapse, but still have to suffer through more work...
