Dearest Lee,
You are no longer dear to me.
I had just turned 17.
You had just turned 19.
In the great outlook of things, it wasn't terrible. You had told me that. We knew each other for three or four months.
During the first weeks I fell deeply in love with you. I could not imagine a life without you. I would have rather killed myself than to spend an eternity without your presence.
You were my reason for being.
During that time, I also learned that you are not a man of much patience. You could have just waited a couple months before doing what you eventually did. Not that it would have justified or purified your actions.
My insides feel warm.
No.
It burns.
I'm burning from the inside out.
Like lightning trying to escape my heart. The pain is too much for a single person. I claw at myself; I try to carve my heart out. If I have to live the rest of my life with this pain, I'd rather not live at all. My tears become akin to lava. I burn outside as well. There is not a single place on my body that does not burn.
You do not know this feeling. You do not know the feeling of self-hate caused by the actions of someone else. This feeling, so unbearable, I wouldn't wish it upon anyone. Not even you, even if you have caused me unbelievable damage.
What I'm about to say next might not be the easiest for you to digest.
I hate you. And no one can take away this anger I hold for you.
When I look in the mirror, my own body feels alien to me. My body does not feel like my own anymore. My body belonged to me. The worst part is that I can't tell other people what I feel. My mouth cannot express the anguish of the hell my mind and body have tormented. I alone am on a boat traversing a hurricane of your making.
I should have never started talking to you. I should have never opened any of your messages. I should have never talked with your friends. I should have never watched the Superbowl. I should have never watched the halftime show. I should have never told you about it. I should have never opened the picture. I should have never opened my phone camera. I should have never walked into your trap.
I was just a kid.
You were an adult.
You knew better. And yet you still played me like I was an instrument, and you knew not the first thing of notes. Except perhaps A Minor. (Thanks Kendrick)
I would now rather kill myself than spend an eternity with you.
I do hope this letter reaches you, and please, never contact me again,
Your beloved.
