train stations

vii.

Dear W,

There are a lot of things I'd wish for, if I could. Now, as my mind is clouded over with drowsiness and I can only think of my mistakes, I know exactly what I would wish for.

I'd wish for my truth. Everything I feel and everything I am is a creation, a lie. I'm not a person like you. I don't think I'm real.

I don't feel the way everyone else feels. I feel all the wrong things, and sometimes, I don't feel at all.

I don't think there's anyway for me to escape this.

I can't find safety. I'm always with myself.

—Forgotten