*Giggling* Hi
I can't believe ya'll still are following me wow
Aaaaanyways, even if I won't get reads on my comeback, I will still be (hopefully) writing
I just needed to let you guys know that I'm not dead
So here! :D
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Ryan's POV
I sigh, it's getting hopeless, all these writing and sending. It's..it's tiring, I don't even know if he ever reads any of my letters. It's a pain what I'm doing, writing to someone who I know has moved on, who I know won't ever write back, I don't know why I continue these but it somehow managed to satisfy me.
I set my coat down on the couch, not even bothering to put it back to its original place, it wouldn't matter. I silently walk up the stairs, the only noises that could be heard was my feet tapping on the floor, nothing else. I tried adding colors, music and even happiness into this cold, sad house of mine. But it just doesn't feel the same anymore.
Walking up to the door which would lead into my miserable room, It made me bite my lip and hold back a few tears, this wasn't the first time I've ever felt this way. Brendon and I did lots of shenanigans in my room, you'd always hear us laughing or recreating cheezy movie scenes. Those were the good ol' days.
I enter the room, seeing how messy my bed was, my clothes were basically everywhere and crumpled up papers had taken over the trash can. I just walk pass by every mess I own, only focusing on the table which had one lamp and a pen. I have to write another letter, this may or may not be my last but why would he care? He won't read it anyways.
I pull the chair back, the contact of its four, wooden legs onto the floor making an unpleasant noise, I sit down. I grab another piece of paper, reaching for the pen as I did so. Adjusting the lamp so the lighting was perfect, I sigh once more before starting off my 100th letter.
"Dear Brendon,
Yes, another letter from your horrible ex. I know how annoying my letters are, I try to stop my writing I swear. I just can't seem to stop myself from sitting down on the wooden chair we used to share on, grabbing a paper we used to fight over and picking up the pen we would always use when it came to song writing. I mean, this isn't the same pen of course, I just bought the same brand everytime the one I had ran out of its ink. Or what we used to call it, blood.
How are you? I've been asking you this on all the letters I ever wrote to you, I hope you're doing fine. I hope you found someone who would give all their time, their love, their smiles and heck even their soul. Weird, we'd always do those things. Are you married? I'm not sure of this, I haven't been on social media nor have I been visiting the nasty place we call home. Which is the world. I hope you're happily engaged. I'll be happy for you even if it's a pain to me.
I love you. I know, this is tiring and annoying, telling you how much I love you even if I knew your feelings towards me changed, it shifted from being sweet feelings to bitter ones. I miss your skin, your lips, your eyes and voice. I miss your body, I miss you. I still can't believe I have to wake up without you by my side, without you giving me your morning smile or kisses. I can't believe I'll have to live the rest of my life alone. Die alone, even.
I thought we'd be able to reach forever, get married and adopt more puppies and just start a little dog family, get old together and laugh at old memories. I thought I'd be able to see you kneel on your own knee as you pull out a small box which contained a band in it. I thought we'd be able to make it that far. I thought our quarrels would just burn down, I thought our sharing of breakfast, lunch, snack and dinner would last. I thought singing to eachother and just laughing whenever our voices would fail could last. I thought we would last.
Even if I find someone new, and we'd be able to make it that far, I won't be as happy because it isn't you. I wanted to marry you not some other guy who won't be able to understand me the way you do. I don't want that. But, either way, I do hope you found your forever. Cheezy, I know. I hope you found that perfect someone, your real perfect someone I mean. You'd always tell me I was your perfect someone. I guess that was a wrong thought.
I hope you got your dream house, the one we'd always pass by, the one you'd always point at and say 'Someday, we'll live im that house with 1 million dogs.' and I'd always laugh and let you believe such thing, kissing your forehead and holding your hand as we continued walking down the road.
This is all for now. This may or may not be my last letter, I assume you'd hope it would be my final, huh? This isn't another lame attempt to try and get you back in my arms, to try and get you back here beside me, planting kisses on my head when I needed you to. This is my goodbye, I don't want to be lost in your memory bank, I don't want my existence to get lost in your head. I want it to be stuck there, don't just forget me. It's a process.
I, George Ryan Ross III, has always been in love with Brendon Boyd Urie. "
As I wrote my final words, a tear lands on the paper, leaving a mark of me. I guess that's the only thing Brendon could ever look at to remember me.
