I won’t call you “dear”, not even out of the usual kindness used in letters. I will cut to the chase, or not, I was into the chase until now, now I am getting out of it by telling you the following.
The exit is not an exorcism, nor extirpation, maybe a birth – a late one- through budding. In you or with you, I stayed for so damn long, I always urged you to choose with your heart, you, no, you are cerebral, calculated, cold, suspicious, realist… realist? What is reality?
I always tried to write to you and you, the coward, like most of those calculated ones, you would tear the page. You don’t dear tear this one because this time, I am writing on your chest – I should have thought of it before.
Our lives were packed with wonderful stories. You demanded all the…
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