Wednesday August 02nd 2006, 11:01 pm
Filed under: Love Letters


Happy godless Saturday night love! Where are you tonight? What are you up to? Whose warm body is lying next to you, possibly erect inside you? Iíve been well, my love. No, I lied. Iíve not been well at all. Can I be honest for a moment? Today has been shit. I havenít had a moment of peace. My thoughts are crawling inside me like a tapeworm. I fear the worst; I fear that this cerebral parasite will soon surface to collect and devour the remains of its host Ė namely, me. But letís not speak in ill-tongued metaphors any more. This depression is causing me to question the ultimate questions. I feel destitute. It is possible, and this is just speculation, that these depressive tendencies have been inside me for a very long time. Possibly, Iíve tucked them away deep inside my consciousness, and have denied their existence. Maybe these feelings of absolute sorrow were waiting in the darkness of my mind, hoping some unsuspecting catalyst would step into their trap. You, my dear, might have been that catalyst –a fly in a spiderís web. But maybe Iím giving you too much credit, and not fulfilling my own egoís need for survival. I donít know the answer to these hypotheses, but I wonder if you do. Were you an unsuspecting pawn in my psychosis? Did you not hurt me as I recall so vividly? Did you not fuck Justin a month after we separated? Did you not give up on us? Did you not project to the world just how single you were while I was still living in the apartment? I am angry right now Love, but at least its not depression. I hate depression. Itís so lethargic and apathetic to all our other emotions.

With angry questions,


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