Unsent Letters

Not every letter is meant to be delivered.

Some are written to people who no longer belong in our lives. Others are addressed to younger versions of ourselves, parents, strangers, dreams that never came true, or the versions of us that never got the chance to exist.

These pages were never written to start conversations.

They were written to end the ones that refused to stop echoing inside my head.

They call it intermittent reinforcement. I called it a talkgasm. Random brain dumps.

​These ain't love stories, and they sure as hell ain't a call to resuscitate anything. They're autopsies of inconsistent connections. From the initial thrill of the intellectual hook to the violent urge to burn the memory down, these letters exist for one purpose: to purge the toxic noise out of my head and onto the page.

​Read it as a caution, read it as art, or read it because you're currently holding your phone at 3:00 AM trying not to break your own boundaries.