Dear You,

  I wish that my benevolence and my pride had not been forced to accompany one another. Infatuation is such a fickle thing. It is curious that I once believed that I needed you, for now it is clear to me that the only backbone that you ever had was indeed mine. How is it that my love for you drove away my love for myself? I cannot even call that love at all. My self worth diminished as tears stained my once smiling face. I have always been known for my inner strength, but for some reason, you were able to destroy that. Your constant overemotional attacks warred with my own simple attitude. I do not believe in unnecessary jealousy or anger. However, you engaged in both so frequently that I was unsure how to cope. After the hundreds of times you broke my trust by cheating and lying, I was forced to experience those emotions as well, to my distaste. I am beautiful, intelligent, talented, and easygoing. I am worth so much more than everything that you put me through for so very long.

  You once had me convinced that my personality traits were not attractive, because I was not sensitive enough. I cannot stress to you enough how wrong you truly were, and how wrong I truly was for believing you. I have found somebody, very similar to me, that prefers emotions go unspoken. He prefers to be shown, just as I prefer to be shown. I find it interesting that you still contact me when things are not going well for you. I also find it interesting that you do not understand why I offer no sympathy, and only advice. It disgusts me that you wallow in your own self pity and that you do not have enough pride to become successful for yourself. You will never know what it is like to work hard, make mistakes, and learn. That is your downfall.

  Watch me become something you will never know. Watch your world crash down before your tear-brimmed eyes. Like Atlas, I will carry that world upon my shoulders, but call it, not, punishment. I gladly accept my role, because, unlike yours, it means something.

Sincerely,

Me

Dear you;;
These conversations I have with you in my head make me feel retarded, but I can't help it. If you were still alive, I'd call you up on the phone and we'd have talks of god and injustice and how sometimes life isn't fair. But you're not alive and the number remains unused on my speed dial...

Four years and almost three months to the day, and I still can't bring myself to remove that number from my contacts, still can't make myself delete it because in a way, it feels like I'm deleting you.

I know I don't visit your grave like I should, and I know I was the only one to not show up at your funeral (earning scorn because as "the baby and favorite, I should have been there, don't I have any respect?"), but I know you understand. You know that out of the 28, I was the one who watched you waste away for five years, I was the one who missed school and sleep and my life I should have had in high school to make sure you'd take your medicines, to talk to you when your disease hit home and you thought I was five again and missing. I was the one who sacrificed more than anyone, and I didn't want my last memory of you to be in that coffin, looking peaceful after five years of hell. Maybe I'm selfish. I wanted to remember you as you were the last day I saw you, the day before you went into your coma. You were you, the old you, and you knew me.

I still replay that last conversation in my head, and I still think about all the things I could have said, should have said.

But looking at back at those five years, I regret nothing. And everyday when I think about it, because I always think about you, your last words a constant repeat in my head, I'd take those five years of missing school, friends, life in general, and I'd put them on repeat, not your pain and suffering, but the times I got to visit you and talk to you and know that if I dialed your number at anytime, you'd be here for me. Because in the four that you've been gone, it's been hell.

I wish you were here. I wish I could hear you talk, hum, wish we could sit out on the porch like we used to in the summertime and people watch.

I miss my best friend. More than anyone can possibly imagine. So I'm stuck here, having conversations in my head with you when I need advice, and this isn't healthy, but it's all I've got. And maybe, it's just gonna have to do til we meet up again on the otherside of things. I don't believe in heaven or hell, but I sure hope there's a special place for you. You were too good of a person to deserve to just be a body six feet under the ground, a feast for the worms in your Sunday best.

Thanks for being there even when you can't be, and thanks for being that little voice of reason in my head when all else fails and the world is out of line. Thanks for everything, really.

I love you,
Your youngest granddaughter

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

Dear You,
You probably think I'm some dumbass who shouldn't be behind the wheel of a car because I came insanely close to rear-ending you today. I'm sure that last-second minor swerve to avoid hitting you as you were turning did not exactly improve your opinion of my driving abilities--even if I successfully avoided both your car and the sidewalk.
99.9% of the time I am a safe driver, conscientious of vehicles and pedestrians around me. Unfortunately, today was one of those days where my fucking brain just decided to take a minor vacation while I was behind the wheel. I'm just glad for both of our sakes that I was able to avert disaster at the last moment without either of our vehicles taking any damage.
I am SO sorry for my moment of carelessness--and not just because I just barely avoided getting smacked with a higher insurance rate, a ticket for failure to control speed, another dent (or worse) to my car, and just feeling like a complete and utter dumbass had my car made contact with yours.
Regardless, even though it really wasn't necessary for you to practically come to a stop to make that turn, that was still my bad. Sorry about that.
At least I wasn't fucking with my phone, though. I do know better than to try to fuck with my phone while behind the wheel.
So sorry,
the scatterbrained motorist who very nearly rear-ended you

Dear Mike,
You are fucking amazing. You should totally find a way for me to meet your lady friend who you're insanely interested in so I can tell her exactly how fucking awesome you are so she'll realize you're a damn good catch and snag you. While we certainly figured out back in high school that we are best off as friends as opposed to lovers, your lady friend would have to be a damn fool not to (sooner or later) figure out that you are a damn good catch and just all-around awesome. Not to mention that if you two got together and it actually evolved into a serious relationship, she could take comfort in knowing that if she has to ask if you would kindly get her some pads or tampons or other "embarrassing" female item from the store that it's not going to phase you one fucking bit--nor will the sight of hairy legs or a bit of upper lip fuzz or other generally less-than-pleasant things that tend to get noticed in long-term relationships. And I daresay the prospect of her possibly having to help you shave your back is a reasonable trade-off for all your awesomeness. LOL!!!
They may say that diamonds are a girl's best friend, but I could really give a shit less about diamonds...a friend like you is far more valuable than even the rarest diamond as far as I'm concerned.
Love You Mucho Dude,
Alex

Dear Oogie,
Holy shit it has been so good to hear your sexy voice!!! And it was definitely good to get to talk with you for nearly half an hour. Hope there was still some hot water left for you when you made it to the shower...although you may have needed the water to be a bit cool when you hopped in? LOL!!! I definitely can't wait to see you Saturday--unfortunately since I did play hooky last Sunday I can't risk playing hooky again not even a week later (but as I told you, that act of playing hooky was a fucking public service--it was either lose out on a day's wages or risk losing my freedom...) I won't get to spend anywhere near as long as I would love to there with you but it's better than not getting to see you at all...I just hope I don't faint when you kiss me (that would be embarrassing as hell, not to mention how it would cut into our time together!!!)...LOL
I Love You So Much Baby!!!
Love Always,
Alex

Dear Neighbor,
I've been living at this place for over four years and I have never had cause to file a complaint to the office...until now. It's one thing if I can hear you and your dipshit friends talking through the wall when we're in our respective living rooms--the walls are fairly thin. But if I can hear you in your living room from my bathroom (or worse yet, in my fucking bedroom)...that is a problem. Especially fairly late at night when I'm trying to get some fucking sleep. Your friend who drives the rice-burner that sounds like an out-of-tune lawnmower needs to learn how to fucking park (and hold off on the urge for everyone within earshot to hear how "powerful" his piece of shit sounds until he's clear of the complex), you and your friends need to learn how to not be fucking obnoxiously loud inside or out when it's late out, and for fuck's sake learn how to walk a little quieter!!! I know for a fact that I outweigh you by a good bit (and not just because I'm taller than you by nearly half a foot) and I can walk up and down the stairs and through my place in my fucking cowboy boots much quieter than you and your friends can. And if I can hear your loud-ass footfalls next door to you, I can only imagine what the poor old lady who lives under you hears...
Two other people (at least) have already filed complaints against you to the office. And on Monday (when I'm off while the office is open) I will be the third. I hate having to resort to that, but I have already done the neighborly thing and made mention to you to fucking pipe down at night. Show some fucking consideration for those who live around you or move. I don't really care which.
Annoyed as piss,
Your next-door-neighbor
P.S. I was not "right up on your ass" when we were heading to our part of the parking lot today; my front bumper was at least four feet from back bumper at any given time as we crawled past the speed bumps. Just because your dickhead crush might have convinced you that two inches is really eight doesn't mean that you should be confused about tailgating vs. a decent distance away while driving at a crawl. You dumb fucking twit.