I’m writing you this letter because I want to feel something.
Lately, I have felt like crying. I don’t feel sad, I don’t feel unhappy. I don’t feel at all.
I want to cry. I want the taste of seawater running down my face, pilling up and drowning me. I want my vision to get so blurred, that it gives my darkroom the elution of the bottom of the ocean. I want my body to squeeze itself so tightly, that breathing becomes a difficulty.
I want to feel the weight of the world crashing down on me, breaking every bone in my body. I want the silence of the night to remain silent, undisturbed by my breathing and crying. I want to close my eyes gently and pretend it’s my last moment here, hoping it’s my last moment here.
By the time I either fall asleep or my eyes dry out, I’ll be in peace with this world. The path the tears took would dry up and the feeling of itchiness would arise. The tightness of the muscles would be released and the feeling of flowing would arise.
The weight of the world would vanish leaving the same feeling when you get a cast removed after breaking a bone. I silence of the night would be disturbed by the heavy breathing of a body newly rescued from drowning. I want to gasp for air like I want another day to live.
I want to feel something, even if it’s pain. So please let me cry. I writing to you regarding the subject we talked about recently.