With All The Love Left In My Heart, xofrank.

108 10 1
                                    

Maybe I won't reach my tenth letter, Gerard. Maybe my tenth letter will be for something else. After all, the things I've done and the things you've done might as well have killed me by now.

Fuck, Gerard. It's Christmas tomorrow, and I'm sitting here on Christmas Eve listening to the rain pouring instead of your voice.

Where are you? I've been trying to write this letter for hours but I keep crumbling it up and throwing it against the wall because it's coming out all wrong. I've tried writing this letter about thirteen times but I swear to God, this is it.

I don't know where to start this time. First, I find drugs hidden in the back of the cabinet (which was fucking pathetic on your part. If you wanted to hide it from me, you could've chosen a less obvious place). Then, Mikey comes over, asking why you haven't answered the phone in weeks, and I tell him as much as I can before breaking down in his arms. HIS ARMS. Your little brother's arms. Not yours. He had to be the one to comfort me.

I'm sorry I didn't kiss you before. I couldn't kiss you. I didn't want to taste the alcohol and I didn't want to torture myself. I didn't want you.

Why didn't I want you? It's not a trick question, Gerard. You should know. And there are quite a few reasons, but if you can figure out at least one, I'll be content with that.

You keep calling me Frankie and I hate it. I hate it so much. You say it like there's nothing wrong and like you have the right to call me that after all the shit you put me through. You don't have the right. I hate hearing you say my name like that, so sadistically, because you've hurt me enough already. You only called me Frankie when things were alright. When we were happy. When we were so deeply in love that we'd argue and then look at each other and laugh, because we were fighting over the dumbest shit. I miss that. Don't you?

We were best friends, Gerard. Inseparable. Nothing could do us part. We knew every single detail about each other. We'd go everywhere together. A package deal. It was both or nothing. The things we'd do for each other were mindblowing. All our friends were in love with our relationship and they would say 'aww' at almost everything we did. We were best friends, right? Best friends forever.

But not now.

Where has that gone? Tell me, where could that disappear to? How could such a great thing just... vanish?

And now you're all I have left. Our other friends, I don't know where they are. Ray? Joe? Patrick? Pete? Andy? Where are they? Have you been too drunk to notice we haven't spoken to them?

You're all I'll ever have until I finally decide to let go. Then I'll have nothing. I'll be gone. You'll have other people, and you'll have drugs, and you'll have alcohol. You won't miss me as much as I would miss you. You don't need me. You have plenty more things you can resort to.

So why should I stay? I only need you, but you don't need me, so it's no use. I'm only alive because I had a tiny, microscopic spark of hope that you'll love me again. But I think I've just about given up. That spark burned out.

I could do it and you know that. I have no purpose, anyway. I'm not saving the world. I'm not giving you enough love (although every last bit I have has gone to you). I'm not helping anyone. I don't love myself. I don't mean anything to anyone. That's a fact.

So any day could be it, Gerard, and I hope you know that.

I think I could disappear and it would take you days to notice. But you'd drink it all away, all the guilt, if any at all. You'd drink away the memories till you've killed a decent amount of brain cells. You'd drink away my name and the way it felt slipping from your lips. How you'd have to attach your teeth to your bottom lip to form 'Fr' and then your tongue would touch the roof of your mouth for the 'an' and to finish it off, you'd click the 'k' like satisfyingly closing the best book you've ever read. All of that would be washed away with beer and cocaine and cigarettes and stupid drugs.

I can't bear to write any further today. My hands are shaking and I'm on the verge of tears and everything hurts. I know you're not here but I can hear your voice calling my name. And it's killing me.

I love you. I'm sorry for anything I'm about to do.

I'm sorry for everything.

Love, Frank (Frerard)Where stories live. Discover now