February 17, 2003

Dear Jen,

You waited so long for me to put a letter here, and, since I know that you read it, I wasn't ever going to do it. Why bother? You don't read my words for what they are, and even if you did, I've learned to face the fact that it wouldn't change a thing. I can't make you love me, as much as I wanted to. As hard as I tried.

But you use everything against me. Everything that I showed you; everything that I've told you. You use your journal to trash me, even though I didn't do anything wrong. I loved you, even when you told me you'd NEVER LOVE ME. I sat beside you through thick and thin, even when you told me to leave. You treated me like DIRT and you only admit it to make yourself happy because then it fills your holy conquest to find a reason to kill yourself. I can't even tell you how bad you hurt me or make you understand because if I did, if I tried to, you'd just throw it in my face and say that I never loved you, completely ignoring that all my pain STEMS from how much I DO LOVE YOU. How you feel about Michelle; how you'll never love another? Yeah, I feel you. What she did to you, you did to me. I wonder if you even recognize that....

Tears stream down my face; tears you can't feel. Tears you don't believe. Frustration courses through my veins; frustration that you never even gave me a chance in your heart. Frustration at how you take everything out on me. Frustration at how you say you love me, say you don't, say you did, say you never did; frustration at how I know the truth. I've never felt so helpless and small in my life. The only thing I've ever done good; the only thing I've ever put my all into, and all I have to show is this vast and painful hole torn right from the middle of me. WHY CAN'T YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?! Why doesn't it make a difference?

Remember that book you gave me? The one you brought back from Florida as a gift? In the days past, I've turned it into something quite extrodinary. A flower on every page. A flower from my soul; a flower cut straight from my veins. A flower for the rose you forgot at my house. A flower for the way you used my art to pick up chicks. A flower for telling me you loved me, then taking it back. A flower for never giving me credit. And I know it doesn't hurt you. And I know it doesn't matter. Your so keen on seeing me again; maybe it'll matter to you then. How you affected me; ME! Someone who begged you not to cut and hurt yourself. Someone so TOGETHER when you first met me. Last night, thinking about you, I took a lighter and burned an x across my heart. A bullseye. Now I'm sitting here, getting drunk, wishing someone would do some target practice. If only you were here; we know you're a dead shot.

One day you'll regret it. I keep telling myself that. One day you'll remember how bad Michelle was to you and you'll remember how I waited on you hand and foot and worshipped you. As the years go by and you skip from bad relationship to bad relationship, succombing to everyone who will hurt you, casting aside those who truly love you, you'll one day wake up and realize that I was a catch. I have to tell myself this to keep myself from completely losing it and giving up on life altogether. Something so good, so right, can't be so easily forgotten. That, and that one day, I'll wake up and I'll remember how good Katt was to me, or Lou was to me, and I'll be able to love someone besides you again.

Love Always,
Andrew