train stations

xvi.

Dear W,

I guess really, you've been wondering what I'm doing. Where I'm going. If I know where I'm going. If I know what I'm going to do once I get there. If I'm safe.

I've been wondering that too. I think I knew, but I didn't want to admit it.

You probably think I'm being impulsive, like I always am. Closing my eyes and jumping, letting the universe guide me. I think that's what I hoped would happen. I hoped that I would get on the train and the universe would show me the way. I could look out the window, up at the moon, and know what I'm supposed to do. But that didn't happen. And I've been thinking about it a lot.

This isn't an impulsive decision. I've been wondering for months, maybe even years, what the right thing is, and I never really knew. I wanted to do what was best for me, what was best for you.

I've been trying to figure it out, and it's been tearing me apart. I feel like it's a fire in my skull, but it's not a raging fire—a simmering one slowly burning through everything until I suffocate on the smoke and all that's left in my head is ash and cinder. I tried swallowing glass of water after glass of water, but I couldn't put it out.

So I've just been living with it.

And I've thought even harder the last couple weeks. It's all I've been thinking about. What to do, what to do with myself. I know I'm deserving of punishment. I know that.

I don't know why, but I know it's true.

There's nothing I can do to fix what I've done (or what I haven't done). I can't fix my lies. I can't fix my feelings. I can't fix myself. And I've been wondering why I am this way. I've been wondering why I was made this way. I thought I was a mistake, but really, I think I'm this way for a reason. Maybe it's the punishment itself, or maybe I'm the punishment for everyone else.

Either way, this punishment has lasted long enough. I've considered this for a long time. I've really thought about it. I know this is for the best.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I have done, what I'm doing now as I write this, and what I'm going to do. I'm sorry for hurting you and for being so distant from you for so long. I'm sorry for never being a human.

Sometimes, when you can't fix something, you have to just throw it out.

—Forgotten