Chosen~ Snowbaz

Letters to Nobody

Dear Simon, 

It hurts to be near you. It hurts to be away from you. Everything you are is everything I am against. 

So why have I fallen so hard for you?

It's like you're the sun, pulling everything into orbit. Like anything around you is thrown into a light so powerful that darkness stands no chance. We match, you know? You're golden, and good, and power unchecked. I'm everything else—I'm order and darkness and evil. 

They teach people like me to be proud, to own what I am, but how can I feel anything but shame when you're standing right there and casting me into shadow? 

How can I be proud of being a monster? 

Because that's all that I am. A monster. A monster in love with the sun. 

This will end in flames. 

All my heart, 

T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch

Dear Simon,

I can't kill you. I can't hurt you. If I did, I don't think I could ever forgive myself. 

So end me. End this for both of us. 

All my heart,

T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch

Dear Simon,

I feel stupid, writing you love letters like this, but it's not like you'll ever read them. If you do, it'll be right before you kill me. Or right after. 

No, right before is more dramatic. You'll read these, and you'll be filled with such rage and disgust that me, a monster, could ever love someone perfect, someone chosen, that you'll drive that sword of yours right through my heart. (If I have one.) And before I die, I'll swear to you that every word was true, every declaration of things I shouldn't be allowed to feel. 

Feel. It's a strange word, isn't it? In a way, we feel everything and nothing all at once. I feel love for all the wrong people, and my love causes pain. Your love, on the other hand, is something that exists in surplus. 

But none of it is for me. 

I suppose that's for the best, really. Because if you loved me, you'd have to leave me, and I don't think either of us could take that. I've been left too many times to survive, and I don't think you know how to do the leaving. 

You and your stupid hero complex. I love you for it. 

All my heart, 

T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch

Dear Simon,

I wonder if I have a soul. 

You'd say I don't, of course. You see me for what I am. But somewhere in everyone, there's emotion. There's need. There's love. 

There's the raw, desperate knowledge that everything exists for a reason, and yours is to kill me when the day comes. 

You'd be doing the world a favour. 

All my heart, 

T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch