Thursday's Child
towritealetter
I write this to you with a lot in mind. Sometimes I wonder just how our lives would be if we wouldn't have met all those years ago. Would I be happy right now? Where would you be? Would my parents have ever accepted me? I don't know the answer to these questions and I probably never will. Sometimes it's hard, you know, to just continue on. I do it, though, even though I don't have a solid reason. I have nothing, absolutely nothing. Everyone tries to convince me otherwise. They just want me to stay alive, I guess. How did things get like this? Oh I don't know. I really don't... but I wish I did.
I keep listening to the Sex Pistol. I damn well hate them but I can't help it. They were your favourite band back when we met and they hold memories for me. Painful memories, albeit. They say it's not healthy but I don't care. I wish I did but I don't and I don't think I will for a long time.
I don't think I can write any more. It's hard to just think about you, let alone write to you. They say that I should take it slow and I guess I'm going to listen to them, if only for this once, and take this slow and end the letter here. I don't know whether I will continue this; I guess only time will tell.
I keep listening to the Sex Pistol. I damn well hate them but I can't help it. They were your favourite band back when we met and they hold memories for me. Painful memories, albeit. They say it's not healthy but I don't care. I wish I did but I don't and I don't think I will for a long time.
I don't think I can write any more. It's hard to just think about you, let alone write to you. They say that I should take it slow and I guess I'm going to listen to them, if only for this once, and take this slow and end the letter here. I don't know whether I will continue this; I guess only time will tell.