Chasing Ruthbeer

Dear You,

I sometimes crave about you. You and your extremely pretty face that dazzled me a year ago. I still remember how I grabbed you from the net, our first kiss and your morning visits. I still remember everything.

I sometimes miss our life together. I miss the time we first shared blanket. I miss the way you say may name. I miss the way you hold my hand or grasp my breast and every steamy moments we have. I miss you terribly that it causes pain by just remembering.

Everything was sudden. You robbed me of confidence and left me with a fear of change. A change that starts to a small day to day conflicts with which I'm unable to cope any longer without so much pain and humiliation. We are no longer close enough for honest conversation. I began to torture myself with speculations. Your uniqueness is fading.

I am slowly going crazy. I let myself be cheated. I am breaking down in front of neighbors, friends and family until suicide is an option. Suicide after all is suicide. There is something final about it and by that time, I wanted it to end.

Thank you for your uncomplimentary remarks. thank you for your cruelty, it helps me a lot. Where's the laughter and teasing, my love? This letter will never be sent to you. I don't want you reading my thoughts.

I am remorseful and ashamed for having demeaned myself in vain. I am willing to demean myself, but not in vain.