dear lola,
every time i close my eyes in the dark i see your face. scarred, eyes wide open. blood. i can't control it so i just stay stuck, staring. pulling my eyes away but getting sucked right back into the trance.
regina, my therapist, says that i am having a panic attack when i sleep. it's like a nightmare disorder. that's why i wake up sweating, bloodshot eyes and gasping.
i like regina. she's the nicest person i know. mom and dad are the second nicest, but they still yell at me for zoning in and out of reality. and lola, you're at the bottom of the list.
i'm sorry. if i could've saved you i would've, i don't hate you so much that i would let you die, but i was scared. lola, believe me.
-ssttoopp screaming!-
you have to stop it. i didn't mean to just let it happen. certain things just happen and we can't change it.
also, this letter is only what i'm thinking. i don't like it as much so i'm not gonna write it.
YOU ARE READING
letters to her voice
أدب المراهقين"what happened at school today, harlem?" "i created a tornado of glass." "you could have killed chester macavee." "at least i didn't kill him, like lola." {letters with .5 are thoughts but never written} {lowercase intended}
