I’m Sorry
Dear Karen,
It's been more than ten years since you left. There are days when, unexpectedly, I am reminded of your smile and the friend you were to me.
I'm sorry.
I know I told you this - and many other things - as I stood at your grave, but I feel the need to echo the words and sentiment again. I'm sorry. As strange as it may be, I feel what you may not have understood while on this earth now makes perfect sense beyond the veil of death.
Our friendship became too much in ways I didn't understand at the time. What I didn't know then, I think I do now. The needs you exhibited were so vast they eventually overpowered my world, much like a flood, and I felt like I was drowning. Those feelings weighed me down each time we interacted until I began to dread our encounters. It's even stranger because now I understand we were both empaths and our natures had a direct bearing on our relationship, causing a collision of sorts like cars on a dark highway. While you were open, gregarious, and an extrovert, I was inclined to the opposite: closed, shy, and an introvert. You enjoyed going and doing and seeing, and I enjoyed staying home more often than not, enjoying the comfort of solitude.
It seems strange things evolved in such a way to divide our friendship. I know, however, we drifted apart because of the way these things affected me and my lack of ability to understand or handle the onslaught of emotions. The truth is your heart was never in the wrong place for it always encompassed the best of intentions. I know you never intended to make me feel burdened by anything, especially by you, but I did. I understand things more clearly now but my enlightenment has come too late. I wish I had the chance to do it all again, because with hindsight, I'd handle it all differently. I am sorry though because now it's beyond help....too late. I'll never be able to see and hug you again or even send this letter to you.
So, instead I'll remember the warmth of your contagious laughter, the good times we shared, and the generous nature of your enormous heart while asking once again for forgiveness of my ignorance, lack of emotional aptitude, and understanding. I know you deserved a better friend, and I am sorry. I fell far short of the mark.
I know it would please you to know you are remembered. Dare I hope you hear my plea for forgiveness for it is with regret I now realize too well my failure and lack of understanding while you were here. Even still, the fondness of your memory lingers in my heart, and I am reminded yet again, your beautiful soul was taken from this earth far too soon.
I am sorry.
Cynthia Calder, 01.17.25
Dear Future Me (Or Anyone Else Who Finds This in the Ashes)
“And so it seems I must always write you letters that I can never send.” Sylvia Plath really nailed it there, huh?
Sometimes, it feels like shouting into the void is all we’ve got left. So, here I am, penning this because I don’t know if tomorrow is going to be a TikTok dance or the Hunger Games.
Civil unrest. Sounds like something we’d skim past in a history book, doesn’t it? But nope, it’s our group project now. And, let’s be honest, humanity is that one guy who ghosted the group chat after the intro meeting.
Everywhere I look, it feels like the threads holding us together are fraying. Not to be dramatic, but can we get a return policy on this timeline? People are stocking up on canned beans and ammo like we’re all extras in The Walking Dead. Meanwhile, I’m over here Googling, “What plants can I eat in the suburbs?” Apparently, not many.
It’s wild to think that in 50 years, some kid might be writing their AP U.S. History essay about us. They’ll be sitting in their AI-powered chair, drinking ethically-sourced algae milk, typing, “In 2025, society was chaotic AF.” (Yes, the “AF” will be considered academic language by then.)
I want to believe this is all just growing pains...that we’ll figure out how to listen to each other again, to empathize. But some days, it’s hard to see past the shouting matches on TV and the doomscrolling. Like, where’s the adult in the room? The one who’s supposed to clap their hands and go, “Alright, folks, let’s calm down and fix this.” Oh, wait. That’s supposed to be us.
Honestly, I’m scared. Scared that we’re forgetting how to be human to each other. Scared that the bridges are burning faster than we can build them. Scared that the next headline will finally be the one that breaks us for good. But if I let that fear rule me, haven’t I already lost?
So, I’m writing this to remind myself that even when it feels like the world is spinning out of control, I’m not powerless. None of us are. We still have our words, our actions, our choices. And maybe just maybe...those little acts of kindness and courage are enough to keep the wheels from falling off entirely.
Anyway, thanks for reading, even if you’re just me rereading this someday in a bunker lit by flashlight. Here’s hoping the future looks a little brighter than the dystopia I keep doom-imagining.
Stay awkward, stay hopeful.
-Me
Picket
We've got some ways to go, if we ever found each other trying to traverse a path together.
That picket fence you spoke of, that one with all the pretty green grass and flowers dotting around a house of yellow or blue - whatever suits your fancy - seems just out of reach. It's like a perfect little dream, all wrapped up and easily in reach.
If you could have made me continue to dig at it with you.
You have a funny way about leveraging your wants against mine, making it really easy to kind of dig the knife in where you'd think there's birds chirping and neighbors walking.
No, it's... more like a memory of a nightmare.
Every single moment we spent together, was hell on Earth. The moment you touched me, it all went wrong. A hand on the shoulder, a hug. It was... revolting, like I was taking my skin and turning it inside out because every emotion I had at you felt unreal and bare.
It was like you couldn't stop hurting me, and I couldn't stop hating you. I hated the thought of being a part of you. That I was some... fucked up spawn meant to just watch you burn alive. Burn yourself alive while your mother threw sticks into your tinder.
What kind of hell would you have had me live, watching that all go down and then stick with it? Forty years of hell like you? Huh, maybe I can start having kids right around when you do?
No. No. I'm not. I never did and I never would.
Because I didn't.
I'll never understand how you could be the mat on the floor, and then complain when shoes walked over you. I'll never be able to quite comprehend how you wanted me so bad, but you did next to nothing to take care of me. Teeth aching? Yours were rotten. Head hurting? Clean the house. Ugh! I don't know why I admired you! I don't know why I believed in you so much until we were throwing blows at each other that day when I knew it was all a façade.
You never cared about me! You never cared about her! You only cared about how tortured you were and how much you just couldn't fucking leave!
And that's why you're still there, right?
Still letting her within reach to chase you.
Letting her be more than a haunting memory to you.
And you'd be that for me to. You'd give me that.
I want so bad to say somewhere in me loves you, but I don't. I want to say that I hate you, but I don't. I pity you, in the way that someone watches an animal suffering in a cage in a zoo and walks on. We're not the same. You and I.
You may have had me, but I'm not here to live and just die.
Signed,
You know who
Dear Dad
Did you ever think all those names you called me growing up wouldn't affect me?.
You were meant to be my Dad protect me, encourage me.
Why did you do that? To make me strong? Or was it your own insecurities coming out over the way your Father treated you?
Did you ever truly love me? Or would you just say the words and not mean them? I love you.
Why Dad why?
Jackie
It's been a long time. A very long time. And I suppose you would have never even received this letter if I had written it down. Mostly because I am afraid. The fearless, shameless girl you once knew is scared.
I wonder if you even remember me, or if I was just an insignificant friend among the many we both know you had. But I am to scared to confirm it because that will hurt. And I don't know what will hurt worse. Trying to forget you day after day, or reaching out and finding you didn't care enough to remember?
The place we would sit together alone under the sun remains unused. I can barely stand sitting there alone, staring at the town below it like we used to.
Even though it's been years, I cannot get over it. Almost like it was yesterday. I believe that there is such time as the right person, wrong time. But I fear there was never a right time, and that there never will be. Mostly because I don't know where you are. And also because I think I would be to scared to approach you again.
I think you will be happy, but now after years I have moved on. Sort of. He's nice, and funny like you are, or were. I don't know anymore. And sometimes when I'm with him laughing I can almost forget that there ever was a before. But still you stay, in my head living. Making me wonder that if I would have said what I always wanted to, maybe I would know the answers to all the questions in me now.
But, there was a before you, so there must also be an after. Although I cry, and try to forget, I won't. But, at least I have found a way to get around the constant memories. I haven't told him about you, and I probably never will because it's easier to pretend there was nobody before him. But just in case you were wondering, and if you've already forgotten that's fine. Because now you get a letter from a stranger you can ignore. But still, just in case. I found joy in the sunrises that were your favorite, and I will stare down at that town, but never from out place. From behind it, and pretend I can see two people sitting there, ahead, and living out their happy lives without it ever breaking.
no return address
E,
I’ve written so many letters to you, most of them given to you by hand, some by mail. You’ve cried reading them. I’m known for making people cry with my letters, usually happy tears. I wonder if you kept any. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, I have absolutely no idea. You were a minimalist, but you could be sentimental when you wanted to be. You believed people could control their emotions, so maybe you decided to throw them out when you decided not to love me anymore. You are also heartless in many ways. The thing is, I knew you for years, I lived with you for months at a time, I gave you so much of me, and I still feel like I know nothing about you. I thought I did. But you’re a liar, such a liar to the point where I don’t know how much truth there was to anything you said to me. For 5 years. I think you loved me, at least a little, but I also know you hated me. I remember that time you saw a psychiatrist and we had a brief breakthrough. They said you had ‘low empathy’, and I’m sure they were right. It’s not a dig at you. I feel sorry for what you went through, and I feel sorry for what you struggle with. I even feel sorry for your refusal to deal with these things. I don’t know if I believe in good and bad people but if you do, then I would say that you are a bad person. You have done inexplicable, unfathomable, and I fear, irreparable damage to me. I have to go to therapy specifically for you. I have to go to therapy because you refused to. The worst part is that I don’t think you feel bad. You didn’t cry when we broke up. It was odd. I told you that you were a coward for doing it over the phone, and we both know I’m right about that. You were the most destructive force in my life and yet you couldn’t bear to watch me cry. Repenting in church can only go so far, and you know I say that as a Christian too. It's great that God forgives you, but I’m not God. I don’t forgive you, not that you ever asked. You’ve always been more focused on getting into heaven than being a good man. I don’t wish death upon you. First, on principle. Second, I don’t think it’s what you deserve. I think it’d be too easy. What I wish is for you to understand the pain that you’ve put me - and likely other women - through. I hope you’ll apologize, but more importantly, I hope you’ll stop hurting other people. And the bitter part of me, hopes most of all that you’ll live with that guilt for the rest of your life. That you won’t sleep as well as you used to, that you’ll sleep like I do - anxious, full of grief, lonely. I hope that one day, I will heal, and you will carry the burden for me.
Here is the part where I generally say ‘love always’ at the end of all my letters. That’d be a lie. So I’ll say this:
Sincerely,
You know who
Textual Reprise
So, all the long letters I write
will probably never see the light
Shining in your eyes, as you read.
'Tis not because I won't send
And not that I hate what I've penned
It's just how the world has decreed.
For we have but no time to peruse
Bylines of hidden hints and cues.
A summary, a clip is all we need.
But I can't abridge my feelings more,
and condense them into blocks of four.
Love, sadly, is not about speed.
Let me stop and end this verse
To keep it short and keep it terse
So it fits in a text, as agreed.
Unspoken Truths
I hate you. I hate you so much It hurts. You have put this whole family through so much pain and heartbreak. You have put yourself through so much. I hate you. You are one of the main reasons I left home. Why couldn’t you have just left instead of me? I told you everything, I spilled all my secrets to you once I have never said out loud before, so why? Why did you continue to stay? You know what he is like and you keep trying to fix him, but there is no fixing him and you know it. He hurts you and it pains me to see this happening to someone again. You need to get out, and you need to listen. He isn’t going to change, trust me, and don’t act like I have no idea what I'm talking about. I have seen it before I have gone my whole life watching someone get beat down and not getting out. And they never change, so get out before it’s too late. Please. I hate you.
I couldn’t stop you
My mom used to tell me that as a lady, I had to be kind to everyone no matter what. The Bible says that as well. I can't escape it. Well, I don't want to be kind anymore. If you're allowed to walk all over me, I'm allowed to tell the truth. I couldn't stop you.
I've never enjoyed the feeling of physical contact, not even from my family. This girl used to hug me without my consent in the first grade, and I guess I still hold a grudge. It's been many years since then, yet I can't get over it. You used to touch me and hold my hand when I didn't want to. I felt pressured to. I couldn't stop you.
My love language is words of affirmation, yet the compliments I received from you seemed too good to be true. You called me beautiful, but only after I called you the same thing. You called me hot, but a young girl doesn't want to be considered hot by her boyfriend. She wants to be loved. I am not hot, nor am I beautiful. I am ugly, scarred by your touch and the secrets you kept from me. When I walk past you, I feel those scars burning my skin like a fresh tattoo. I couldn't stop you.
I remember the first time I hugged you. I'd never had contact with a boy before. You asked to hug me, then whispered "I love you" in my ear. Back then, I felt you truly loved me. Someone who loves a woman wouldn't do that. I did love that hug, actually, but not anymore. After that, you wanted more. I didn't. I couldn't stop you.
I used to love you, boy, but I couldn't stop you. How I wish I could stop you. Maybe my skin wouldn't be full of all these tattoos.
I Hate You
J,
I've known you for years, since elementary school. We didn't really start talking much until middle school, but we stopped talking when Covid happened, but started to pick up again junior year in high school. Now we're in college, and things have changed.
I've changed, maybe for better, maybe for worse. I can't tell. You've changed too, I think. I've noticed things.
I'm so fucking glad we don't go to the same university, and you can't see me everyday, because even though I think you're my friend, I think I hate you.
You text me every fucking day, sometimes saying you're concern, sometimes to send me random videos. Please, give a girl a goddamn break. When I give curt responses and you say "did I do something wrong?" I have to say no, because then I would be the bitch and maybe I would mess up a dynamic with someone I've known for over a decade.
You say cruel things sometimes, and you expect me to laugh them off.
I say I can't hang out with you because I'll be busy. You said to me "Busy with what, you never leave your house!" (you were shocked because I was pissed off, and I was because of your tone and implications. I have more friends than you)
"Your car is dirty, get it cleaned." Dude, it's winter. Everyone's car is covered in that dust.
"I'm glad you redyed your hair because it didn't look very good before" thanks. Real confidence.
Those were all within the last week.
I don't know if you have a crush on me, or if you just want to keep me close or what but I'm sick of it.
I'm pissed at you for other reasons too, but I don't think I can properly say them right now. I hate you, because you make me feel bad about myself. You kind of make me what to die.
I don't know if I even like being your friend anymore. I don't want to see you in February, when you planned to see me, but I'll accept it. Maybe I'll think this is me overreacting in a weeks times. Maybe I'll feel worse.
Don't respond to this or I'll want to gorge my eyes out,
"Melpomene"