Kill Your Darlings

2 april 2016

dear pete,

i've been in here for about a month now, and i remember how much jail sucks. this time, though, it's a bit better. now, every-[CENSORED]-one knows who i am, knows what i've done, what i'm capable of doing. no one bothers me, and that's a big bonus.

i miss you like crazy. this month has been so difficult without you; i was okay, then i had you one last time, and i remembered everything that i missed about you. you truly are beautiful, pete, and i'll miss you until i can see you again. if i can see you again.

i'm seeing a (court-mandated) psychiatrist now. he's helping me through a lot of stuff. he tells me that i'm a pathological liar, that i'm depressed, that i'm near-bipolar, that i'm a sex addict, and that i'm suicidal, and i completely believe him. i am beyond repair but i can try. i want to get better and be fixed and i want to get out and see you.

if you're doing what i asked you to, you probably won't get this letter. it's being delivered to your apartment, and i fully realize that you may never read this. i just have to say this, though.

i love you. i love you so much, pete. every night, i lay awake, reliving our last night together. the way your skin felt on my own, the way your hair slipped through my fingers. how beautiful you are. i'll remember everything about you, until i can't bare to remember you anymore. i doubt that day will ever come, but i can dream.

to be honest, i'm glad that you'll never read this. now, i can really say everything. well, not everything, 'cause then this letter will be censored into oblivion, but close to everything.

you are the best thing that's ever happened to me. until you showed up, i was convinced that god had a vendetta against my love life. i guess that's why i latched on to you as quickly as i did. i was so eager to have someone love me, but i was too eager and showed you a side of me that i didn't want you to see.

you are the worst thing that's ever happened to me. you are the one that pushed me over the edge, and forced me into what i became. i was fine living the way i was (if you'll remember, i was never caught until you showed up. i also turned myself in, but i'll get to that later), and then you, with your satin skin and beautiful eyes and snowy-white hair, you came and [CENSORED] up my life.

i gave you a choice that day in chicago with meagan. i knew what your answer would be, and it broke my heart when you said it. it felt as of you had been killed, that you had killed me, as if i had given you the knife to kill me with. it felt like i killed you. you didn't want me, and i realized that, without you, i didn't have anything to stay alive for.

but then, the day i was slated to die, i saw death and it scared me. i didn't want to die anymore, and i had ray help me escape. he's dead now, though, so i guess i can't go thanking him for what he did.

dr. leto told me that i need to work on telling the truth, so here you go: i heard your speech at my 'funeral', and i'm writing this as a response to your speech. i'm overjoyed that i had the chance to love you, but, pete, you're killing me. all i ever wanted was you, and when i finally heard everything from your side, i realized that i was a looming, terrifying, threatening figure that i never tried to be. i feel horrible that i scared you as much as i did, and... yeah. i don't know, really.

what i'm trying to say, i guess, is that i'm sorry. i'm sorry for hurting you and i know that you might not be able to forgive me, and i'm okay with that. you were right: i am hateful, manipulative, vengeful, psychotic.
pete, i really don't know what to tell you that you haven't already heard. i love you, i miss you, you're so beautiful, i'm sorry. i hope that one day i'll be able to get out and see your beautiful eyes one more time. i hope that i can gain your trust back, and that you'll love me as much as you did.

i already said this, but i want to say it again. i relive our last night every time i close my eyes and, when it's quiet, i can still hear your laughter, like bells signalizing an outpouring of happiness. at times, i can feel your lips on mine, as if you were there with me. i can see you in the showers, the water washing the blood off of your soft skin and i can see you in the cigarettes traded during the poker games i don't participate in; i can hear you, feel you, see you everywhere, and i think i'll lose my mind if this keeps us.

who am i kidding? my mind is already gone.

as a writer, you're familiar with the phrase 'kill your darlings'. usually, it refers to replacing eloquent metaphors with something that makes more sense. however, it means something a bit more heavier to me. it means that, no matter how they've affected you, how they've changed you, how much you love or care for them, you have to let go of everyone eventually.

this letter is for you, my darling. even if your beautiful eyes will never grace the paper, you can forget about me, because, let's face it, me getting out of here? wishful thinking.

i'll never feel your hands in my hair again.
i'll never feel your lips on mine again.
i'll never hear your laughter again.
i'll never hear my name on your tongue again.
i'll never smell your coffee/nicotine/ink scent again.
i'll never smell the sweetness of making love to you again.
i'll never taste the sweat on your body again.
i'll never taste your love again.
i'll never see your heart-bat tattoo again.
i'll never see your beautiful, deep, dark brown eyes again.

i have to let you go eventually. why not start now?

love, mikey.

Notes

*cough*listen to A Beautiful Lie by Thirty Seconds To Mars while reading this letter*cough*