Escape (Ezria)

Ezra's second letter.

Dear me.

Why I'm writing this: I still don't know, maybe because it's supposed to keep me from my apparent insanity.

Shall I do it? Shall I just cut my throat? Shall I just stick a pencil in my eye? That would be pathetic wouldn't it? I cried as I let my feelings out to her yesterday evening. I finally did it. I showed my pain, the pain that I've grown to love and admire; the only thing keeping me sane.. (even though the doctors still believe these letters are doing that). I enjoyed hiding and keeping my joyous pain inside, I didn't know it was poison. I'm back where I started, with the ever-growing darkness inside of me. I like my darkness, other people just don't. Which is respectively weird, if you think about it.

 It's very easy to understand she doesn't love me, the hard part is accepting it. Ever since last night, I've been feeling so cold. Like I'm slowly freezing to death. I wouldn't mind dying, neither would I enjoy being alive, if that makes sense in someway. I just feel like I'm always the pleonasmic part to a pleonasm; the unnecessary part that makes it a pleonasm. In white snow I would be the white. But she can turn that around, she would never be the white to snow, she would be Snow White. I just thought I was her prince Charming, guess I was wrong.  Maybe I should just do it, slash a blade through my bone, see what it gets me. 'It's just a permanent solution to a temporary problem' the psychiatrist tells me. But he doesn't get that I like permanent stuff, it has a certain certainty that comes with it. When did we learn that somewhere down the road everything will end? Why do we believe everything has to end? Especially the good things. Must we always prepare ourselves to rebuild, even when it already took everything to have it once? Just the thought of her fills my emptiness, even if it's just for one second. Why can't that feeling last forever? Why does it have to be taken away? that's pathetic. It sucks the meaning out of everything we've worked for.  Why wouldn't I do it, slash a blade through my bare skin? Maybe I'm too weak, or maybe I still think that I would hurt anybody other than myself with it, would she care? No it's not that. The only thing keeping me from slashing a blade through my flesh is the tiny thread of hope that believes my love for her is something that will last forever and I'm clinging on to.