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Her Last Letter

A blank page
A pencil in my hand
And a million thoughts running through my mind

What to say?
How to say it?

It seems as if there is never enough time
Or space
To explain what I want to

Why I am this way
How I feel about myself
Why I am about to do this

I never know where to start
Or even when

Every time I try to explain everything
It’s like it’s too late

Too late to tell my story
Too late to begin
Too late to explain

All I want to t do is put my thoughts into words.
But I just can’t
My minds stops, yet keeps racing
Faster than ever

“Just write.”
I tell myself over and over
Like some sort of religious chant

Have you ever felt the frustration of not knowing what to say?

You want to write
But the pencil won’t move
As if some invisible force doesn’t want you to tell your story

“Just write.”

But how?!
I scream at myself mentally

They tell you to start from the beginning
But where is the beginning?

I find it much easier to start at the end

“I’m so sorry, but I just couldn’t take it anymore…”

As I begin the last letter I will ever write,
A single tear slips down my cheek and falls onto the paper

Blurring the lines

From there it is much easier to write.



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