Dear Ara,
I don't want you to go. I need you to not go. I need you to not leave me. I need you beside me. I have to have you at close quarters.
And not ever leave.
I am a fiasco. A failure. They saw my scars, the ones on my arms and near my wrists. They said that these are because of depression. Because of you. So they decided to let you go. They thought that it would be better to let you go, so it will be easier for all of us to move on.
Thereupon, I wind up to the conclusion that they are create stupid decisions when they are distressed. It is exasperating! I can't believe them.
Thom xx
