Letter

I wrote you a letter last night, in the cold while I floated in the chair, there was everything. How I felt, how I truely felt. I've lied to everyone, even myself. I do everything to convince myself that you are not good for me, not what I want, not what I need. I find other people and try to attach myself to them, it never works, I always come back. I try not to think about you, I really do. It doesnt work. I wanted to give you this letter, so many things that would be hard to take in, I suppose that is why I did not give it to you, I am afraid, I have always been afraid of failing, of loosing, of not being good enough, I've been so afraid that I couldnt see past my own nose, I could not see my chance, and I feel like its lost, like there is no chance anymore.

I.... I hope there is.

...

Oh God I screwed up bad. What am I going to do?

Chill

I felt the chill of death today, while the wind brushed my skin and I tried to feel my way through the darkness. Like a cave the black night veiled my every move from myself, each step was blind and careful. I felt as though each shadow maring even the indigo obsidian which was the night, was seeking to take my life and silently end my very existance in order to take away my long desired joy, and so my ever needed love would come and find my very being gone and eaten by worms. A vision entered into my mind of the grief that would amiss from that, the tears that would roll down her angelic face, and sobs reverberating from her heavenly lips. I could only touch the silence with my mind when that wakening dream etched my thoughts. I touched it so tenderly and carefully as afraid that I may in actuality make those shining drops slip accross her face.

I was afraid