Read it. You just might like it.


To You It May Concern

Hello, K. If you're reading this, odds are I'm already dead.

Please don't rip this up yet, let me tell you some things.

Remember that night in the woods? It was just the two of us.

It was so noisy, wasn't it? All those owls, crickets and who knows what else.

But that view of the sky and how bright the stars were, it left us speechless.

The fire was beautiful, too. It took a good twenty minutes to get going, remember?

But it was well worth the wait.

I'll never forget how it lit your face, your smile. I'm afraid to write all the gooey (but certainly heartfelt) sweet-nothings I wanted to say to you.

This is already a bit embarrassing as it is. Makes it hard to write. But I want you to know why I did everything. And...I don't believe I ever said thank you. So, thank you.

Thank you so much.

I know it couldn't have been easy, dealing with me. But I find you're the best friend (and beyond) that I've ever had, and so I've bothered to write you an actual letter in my horrible handwriting (I hope you can read it). No printed piece of work or an e-mail or something. I am not joking either when I say you're one of the few people that made me feel anything other than disgust, anger, and resentment.

I like you—not liked you, because I still do, always will—more than I like myself.

You matter more to me than most anything.

So now you know why I tried to kill you.

I wanted it to last, you see. I loved every moment we spent together, but I was always thinking about that damned fire. How it went out after it burned strong for so long, dying little by little until it fizzled and left us sitting in the dark.

I didn't want something so wonderful to start to rot and die like that.

Needless to say, it's dead NOW, isn't it?

...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I hurt you.

I offer no other excuses. What I did was a selfish, desperate thing, like what I'm going to do after leaving this letter stuck to your fridge.

In the envelope is your pocketknife, still crusted with my blood. You dropped it when you ran from me that day I attacked you. I have a bigger one, see. I'm going to carve your name into my arm, leg, and stomach as penance for scarring you. Then I will let the same blade slide across my throat.

I might be doing the deed just as you read this last part.

Goodbye, Sweetheart.

P.S.-Don't call Michael. I pulled his heart out for hurting you, too. Did it with my bare hands. His ticker is in your fridge, behind the tub of Blueberry ice cream.


I hope you enjoyed...Reviews are very appreciated! Do have a good day. Or night. Whatever.