First
Dear friend,
My name's Emily. I'm sure you've noticed that there's no return adress on this letter – I think that's for the best. I guess everyone needs an outlet or their bad energy. Mine has just been building up for too long and it needed somewhere to go. Since I don't really have anyone to listen to me right now then I guess it's going to have to be you.
I've always thought of my life as a story. With a beginning and an end and the things that happened to me were like chapters in a book. I liked to think that someone somewhere was reading it and that they understood my every thought, because lately it seems like nobody really understands at all or nobody tries to understand. Alright, my mom worries about me and my chemistry teacher notices that I don't talk to people anymore. But that's a pretty simple observation. She also never fails to point out when my shoelaces are untied. Although people worry and notice, they never really care enough to try to understand. And it's hard battling all this alone. It's as if everything's being thrown at me and my only shield is this barrier I've built. The one that's been up for so long that people have stopped trying to break it down.
I've always thought of my life as a story. I've had a feeling I'd hate the author.
Yours, Emily.
