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𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑵𝒐𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝑱𝒐𝒚𝒆-𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏
I considered ripping up my previous letter after seeing you today. It's kinda hard to believe that you're the same person who wrote those. You basically could have spat in my face and it would have hurt less, your soft voice was filled with venom and your eyes sharp as knives, and when I described them to Pope, he asked me if I was talking about a snake.
I said maybe and then walked off. He's probably questioning my sanity right now.
You seem to think that you're the only one who was hurt by it, which is funny, cause you're the one with more experience than me. Actually, who am I kidding, I have no experience at all in all this romantic drama stuff.
I re-read your letters this afternoon, and I almost tore them apart after I realized what they meant. They paint me as a villain, to quote Leigh Bardugo, the soulless being who shattered your heart into a million pieces and who's now perfectly fine with her three 'boyfriends'. If anybody else would read them, they'd make me look like a monster.
