Dear Victim,
or can I call you Abigail?
It's been days, weeks, months who really knows
I sit here waiting, my eyes absorbed by the clouds outside my window
Are you watching me right now?
Looking down on me, what do you see? What do you think?
Are you even there at all?
Nobody talks to me, I'm an outcast, a misfit, a basket case, a killer.
How could I have done something so terrible to someone so beautiful,
Nobody is the same anymore.
I've decided to write these letters,
Why you ask? I dont know.
Maybe because its almost like I'm talking to you, yet I'm just writing to myself, an empty shell of a man.
Am I even a man anymore?
Was I ever a man to begin with?
Children write diaries when they're younger to keep their memories, yet I sit here writing to rid my mind of my memories.
Memories that barricade my mind like a cement wall.
Abigail,
I'm so sorry.
