Dear Alfred,
I don't understand how you can always be in such a jovial mood around this time while I feel as if the pain of the memories are going to swallow me whole. I try not to hate you for it and, really, I don't. I know it's a happy day for you. Your brithday, the day you won your independence, the day you walked away from me... I try to hide my pain and sorrow with ridiculing and mockning remarks but I can tell that you can see that I'm not giving it my usual effort. I try not to be overly melancholic but I know my attempts are often in vain. Whenever its just you and me or when Matthew and that frog boyfriend of his come over you can tell even better because I always let my guard down and you can get a few answers to why I'm so quiet or . Your gaze always softens even more that usual around this time and you send me an apolgetic or lugubrious look when I'm feeling especially like I'm going to start spiraling back down into that pit of depression again. I've been reduced to self harm before and I know you worry about me and that you believe that one day I'll harm myself beyond repair. I won't though, oh no not for myself, I don't care if I live or die. I fight through all of the torture of the sorrow for you because I know that if you love me even half as much as you love me it would probably kill you if I killed myself. You're the only reason I'm still here today and I'm grateful for that. I love you Alfred, I really do and I know I don't say it enough and that my actions don't always show it but I'll say it here. I love you more than you would ever know and more than I'm able to show. You know when I insult your country or the way you talk? That's my way of trying to tell you how much I love those things about you because they make you, well, you. I hope I haven't scared you away or hurt you with my remarks because without you I wouldn't be able to carry on because I can't live without you.
Forever yours with all the love I'm capable of giving,
Arthur Kirkland
