Dear Death,
Sometime ago, I had a friend.
She wasn't exactly what you would call...nice.
Okay, she was actually completely horrible.
She screamed at me one day.
She said (or screeched), "Why are you such a pessimistic freak?"
I was a strangely shy person back then.
Obviously, because of my habit of not confronting people, I just stood there, frozen.
I realised, when that happened, that you had killed something of mine before.
You had killed my ability to be completely happy with myself.
Love,
Hope Morris.
