If you are reading this I commend you for finding it because it was never sent. In fact, it isn't supposed to be written. This is my letter to you inside my head, not the first and never the last, even splinters of a letter counted. I miss you. I wish I could love you.
The lights shine in Beijing, I hope you're thinking of me. I doubt a thought crosses your mind. We're bitter (I'm bitter). I'm convinced by now that you hate my existence and that I am useless to you. I probably am but a small thought of kindness would do wonders.
Let's go. Let's go away from everyone.
Opportunity rides by and laughs in my face, but your laugh stings more because you are something I can reach out and grasp. You are the spokesperson for the elitist generation, I swirl with the crowd.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
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