The Unsent Letter

We need to talk Dreamwalker,

I want to say so much to you. I want to yell and scream till my voice is hoarse. I need to beat my fists against something, anything till the pain hits me enough so I stop. Inside is turmoil but nothing reaches the outside. It is kept contained. I move not. Not even a whisper of torment is heard.

I want to believe we are still talking in our own ways like we used to. Tiptoeing around things and sending messages in the bottles. I dig around in the trash daily to find that one bottle that has a message, any message at all from you. It makes me sick to think that here I am digging in the trash for scraps when I should be hundred of miles away.

I hate this cycle, this wash and rinse of hot and cold. I never found a way to unplug it and now it just runs forever and I’m tossed. Drunk on your words, thoughts and dreams, I am. I scrape them down and eat them, sucking ever bit of sustenance I can from it. Paper thin they are now, scrapped over and savored each crumb precious. I’m starving. I’m an addict. Not even that last kick was enough.

There. I admit it. I have problems. Everything else in my life is fine for once yet I am miserable. My pain, my daily dose of pain is missing. I’ve got the shakes bad bad. I’m hot and cold and craving, craving hard. And it’s not there. You are not there beating me down, hurting me, twisting me up and around. You dropped my ass in the ice-cold mud and it shocked me awake.

You’re never coming back. I get that. I really do. Some days I’m seconds to smashing the bottles against your walls just to get That reaction. I’m stronger than this. I know I am. I’ve never let anything beat me and I never will. I will beat this. I must.

But know this. Not one god damn moment ever think that I never loved you. Problem is I do. I’m too toxic. Corrupted, mixed up all badly inside. You’re the only one who’s ever saw though me, saw me. Tore me up that you saw that deep, so deep I had to face it. You found what I was hiding from myself.

I refused to give you what you wanted. I refused to ask for what I needed.
Believe in me! It’s not something to ask. It’s either there or not but that’s what I needed. One day I won’t be such a fucked up mess thanks to you.

~Someone you used to know


10/27/2015   After posting this I placed this as Private because I was afraid it would be read. But I am bring it back to public because I feel that there is much I can say and point to this post. It is very much a metaphor and very real. 


About Isabella LeCour

She is nothing more than the collections of thoughts placed into the virtual worlds. She is a poet, a mother, a lover, many things to different people. But mostly, she is nothing but smoke and mirrors - some ethereal thing that blinks in an out of existence.
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