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dear you,
nothing really makes sense anymore.
i can't even remember the rest of their visit, only that i dropped something and it broke. do you know what broken glass looks like? cut flakes of diamond, glittering on the floor, sparkling in my hands. there was blood too, lots of blood. whose blood? my blood? it was so red, like a vibrant stop light, a saturated version of katsuki's eyes when he's angry. he was so so so angry, wasn't he? he always is. with someone. at someone. at himself? ooh, i really hope he wasn't angry with me.
then there was the screaming, and someone was crying. who was it? whose cries were they? they were so horrible, so filled with pain and shock and horror, i really wanted to reach out to whoever they were.
and then came the dark.
so i've just woken up in a hospital room. apparently izuku called most of our friends, who are outside of those doors, according to the doctors, but i don't particularly feel like seeing any of them right now.
it feels weird.
distorted. underwater. reflected back at me in a funhouse mirror, everything stretched and shrank in all the wrong proportions in all the wrong places. like the past few years were all a lie, that you actually don't exist.
you don't exist right now.
these letters...i've never sent them. izuku found the other ones stashed in a cookie tin underneath a couch cushion. who put them there? was that me? how come i don't remember this? it's unsettling, how unreliable my own head's become. it feels like the truth has always been there, covered by a woolen blanket that has been yanked off quite suddenly, and now, i live in a world where you've never read them. and you never will.
because.
you.
are.
dead.
i suppose that explains the weird times you slip out the front door, or the slightly faded, watercolor-esque way i've been seeing you recently. or why yours hands were so cold, your eyes a bit more vacant than before.
because you aren't alive.
because you don't exist anymore.
because.
you.
are.
dead.
it's like when you say a word so often it loses its meaning.
dead. dead dead dead dead.
d-e-a-d.
four squiggles on a piece of paper, detailing where you are. beneath the ground, slowly letting the earth reclaim you? or soaring above me and my silly head in the clear blue skies (actually, let me cross that out. the clouds are smothering the sun, and it is a dark overcast gray. will it rain and wash away the revelation of the day? will it wipe away the blood on our floors?) with the birds and watching time tick by?
it doesn't matter. because you'll still be dead.
so why do i still write? why do i still address these messages to you, when they will not see the light of day once i seal them in their envelopes?
i do not know. the doctor thinks that it's my way of coping with your...passing, a sort of trick to make myself feel better and encase myself inside of a false world where you still are by my side and like to tend to your garden and take walks in the park and where we still go on weekend dates to the corner ice cream shop, and when izuku and katsuki were less sad and everyone didn't look at me like i was crazy. because if you were still here, i wouldn't be.
i don't think i really want to know what will happen to me if i stop dreaming in this place where you aren't d-e-a-d. so for now, i'll keep on writing. i'll pretend a little longer, chase after wraiths and wisps of who you once were a little faster.
because if i don't, will i break?
will i see you again, for real?
(it's gotten so cold now, here in the dead of winter.
