Write, bleed, and do not send.

I’ve never regretted not sending a letter. I mostly regret it when I do and feel that my words were worthless to someone I cared enough to write for. It feels like bleeding in front of someone and receiving no help. I’d rather bleed in silence.

Writing is not a so very easy task. You show your true colours on a piece of paper and this inanimate paper never fails you; living souls do. At least my feelings weren’t all over the floor to be stepped into. I keep deluding myself into believing that maybe because the other party did not know about my feelings, their hurtful acts might be justified. If they knew and they acted the same way, it would have destroyed me to the very core.


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