You cannot remember the last time you felt happy, and it seems like the sun always shines around you, just missing your skin. When you look at yourself in the mirror, all you see is an empty husk, which you try to fill with food, drugs, alcohol, sex… something.
Everything I say will sound cliche and insincere, but honestly, all I want to do is talk to you, to hold your hand the only way I know how.
Send me an email. Rant, weep, ramble, ponder, anything. And please remember that the sun will always rise.
lettersforlove@mail.com