~ a story ~
I’ve tried to write this letter, twice. This is attempt number three.
Attempt number one was mean, angry. Lots of curse words. I called you an ass multiple times. An asshole I think only once. The word fuck was also used a lot.
I tried to get you to understand how your actions made me feel, but probably not in a way that you would listen.
My handwriting, though neat and pretty as is my style, was full of large letters and big spaces; passionate.
My first attempt was venting.
My second try was more calculating. That evening I was listening to music on my way home, heard a song lyric that fit, and worked from that angle. It talked about actions over words. That seemed rather fitting.
I broke down your actions, listing all our interactions that I could remember. I listed the good with the bad, and where I saw the switch happen.
And then I started using feeling words, but only for a short paragraph. The word hurt came up a lot.
Next I listed questions, questions I feel I shouldn’t have to ask.
Do you care about me?
What am I to you?
They were questions I should already know the answers to, and yet I don’t.
Still in my planning mode, I gave another list, this one with tips for you. Communication was a theme.
Yet still, that letter wasn’t right. I don’t want hot headed anger, nor do I want cold calculating logic.
And even now, I don’t know how to express to you how your actions have made me feel.
Even as I write these words, as my pen sails across the page, I don’t know if I’ll mail this piece of paper either.
How can you express how someone has hurt you just in simple words? Even big words can’t convey the pain I felt, the pain I feel whenever I think of you.
And there is this lingering pinch in my side, wondering if you have any clue how much you hurt me.
And how much all I want is for you to be better. Not perfect, but better.
I guess attempt number four will be tomorrow night.
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