Status: Please, be gentle.
Dear Tate
I Tried to Kill You
Dear Tate,
I don't know where I am, but it's warm. I often find myself wondering if you're even receiving these letters. I like to think that you're tucked away somewhere in that creepy ass house of yours, crying pathetically over the words that I try to make sound hurtful.
It's petty, I know, yet somehow I can't bring myself to care. I have no one left to talk to and I find solace in the hopes that my words are reaching you.
I had a dream about you last night. I tried to kill you, but of course you couldn't be killed. You laughed at me as I continued to stab you in vain. Then you stopped me, kissed me and we were lost in each other beneath your sheets like so many nights before. Why can't I just forget you? Why are you so embedded into my very being that I can't even pretend to want to be rid of you? I'm not sure how much more I can take.
I don't know where I am, but it's warm. I often find myself wondering if you're even receiving these letters. I like to think that you're tucked away somewhere in that creepy ass house of yours, crying pathetically over the words that I try to make sound hurtful.
It's petty, I know, yet somehow I can't bring myself to care. I have no one left to talk to and I find solace in the hopes that my words are reaching you.
I had a dream about you last night. I tried to kill you, but of course you couldn't be killed. You laughed at me as I continued to stab you in vain. Then you stopped me, kissed me and we were lost in each other beneath your sheets like so many nights before. Why can't I just forget you? Why are you so embedded into my very being that I can't even pretend to want to be rid of you? I'm not sure how much more I can take.