Dear Estella,
I'm sick, and I don't mean it in the literal way.
I'm sick of this drowsy cycle, where all I do is get up, let bad things happen to me, cry over the bad things that happen to me for hours, write to you for sometime to stop crying, look in the mirror only to see my ugly reflection and start crying all over again.
I'm sick of you ignoring me. Sick of Stella replacing me in all aspects. Sick of the fact that every second person seems to look better than I do. Sick of Andrew and his dumb antics. Sick of the fact that I keep leading him on. Sick of being the sad case of a daughter that I am. Sick of the fact that nothing that I ever do makes my parents happy. Sick of wallowing in this ocean of self-pity. Sick of the fact that even though I brush my hair a hundred times for you, you still don't look in my direction even once.
I'm so sick, sick, sick, sick, fucking sick I could die from this stupid sickness.
Maybe I'll be dead tomorrow.
Love(What is that? I forgot),
Azura
YOU ARE READING
Dear Estella
Short StoryBecause sometimes, you can't tell her by your tongue, so you tell her by your hand.
