[ November 2 2015 ]
Dear Meg,
I'm pathetic.
Jake came by to my house after school today. It was our game night.
I forgot to put the box back under the bed.
How could I be so stupid?
Jake saw it on my desk.
How could I be so stupid?
He asked me what it was.
I told him it's just a box filled with my dumb childhood stuff.
He wanted to see the inside but I put it away before he could.
I'm pathetic, Meg.
I wrote down my feelings on these letters that are always addressed to you, even though I know that you'll never read them anyway.
I put them inside a fucking shoe box that I hide under my bed.
I'm so fucking pathetic that I need to write down everything on papers just for myself alone to read because I don't have the balls to let it all out to anyone.
Why?
Because, truthfully, no one ever genuinely gives a fuck, Meg.
I keep a lot of shit to myself because in reality, no one really gives a fuck.
Love, Dylan
YOU ARE READING
Dear Meg,
Krótkie OpowiadaniaDylan Shaw doesn't talk about his feelings, he writes them down. To his ex-girlfriend.
