Almost every day I open up a my browser and start pouring out my heart into this journal. And every day I wonder what you are thinking. And what good does this do? Me, pouring out my heart and soul onto pages which you will never read. I owe you an explanation. You should know what is happening to me.
I worked for a week on that e-mail. The first thing I decided was that I would not send you some long meaningless depressive masterpiece. But as the days passed, I would read and reread everything over and over again. Adding a few words here, deleting a few words there. And somehow it turned into a long rambling depressive masterpiece.
I keep opening it and reading it, and closing it without sending it. It makes me sad to read it and it's filled with everything I can't tell you. How will you react? I envision myself telling you these things. But I can never see your reaction. I don't want to imagine that part.
This morning, as I feel the depressions crushing back down upon me, I realize that the clouds only cleared for 12 hours or so. And I don't care any more. I want you to know. I need you to know.
I pressed Send.
What will you think of me now?
Will you look at me differently?
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