Dearest,
I don't want you.
But I think I need you.
More than I thought I did.
I believed, that if I lied to myself enough— I might believe it sooner or later.
Just as I always believed.
But it's hard to believe yourself when you're constantly reminded that you're not being honest.
Lying to yourself is such as tricking a hungry beast you aren't it's prey.
It's nearly impossible to do. And the more you struggle the worse it gets.
It's difficult more when you realize that no matter what's said it will it ever work in your favor.
It's easier to feed the beast lies and act as a more violent predator then negotiate with something that can't even understand the incoherent mumblings of a liar.
YOU ARE READING
My Dearest
PoesiaThese are personal letters written to those I've loved, letters by which by no means are ever to be read by who they are intended for. Also rant/vent in here occasionally. I don't want comments on those chapters.
