Dear Paper,
I don’t know what to write, paper. I’m just feeling a lot of things all at once. I feel hurt. I want to cry but I don’t want to cry. I want to write but I don’t know what to write. I feel messed-up but I feel okay. I don’t know. I just don’t know. It just hurts.
You know how it feels when someone picks you up– literally, pick you up; since you’re a paper. And yes, I’m talking about you now. So, back to that. You know these times when someone picks you up and then they just crumble you? That sound of twisting, damaged paper? When you’re just stuck, and even when you’re folded back, you’re not the same. You can’t ever be the same again.
That hurts, right? I’m hurting, too.
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Note to self; don't write at 4am again, like ever.
