Letter to Albert – January 12th, 2020

Albert, my love,

I find myself entirely shattered, as I sit and contemplate the last night we ever had together. I came back home today to find the usual hum of a common day berate my thoughts and I feel so ashamed.

I felt tempted to step out of the house and buy a bottle of the same brand of beer we always drunk together, as if it was a well-crafted bandage to hold the uncontrollable bleeding spilling out of my heart. Instead, I just picked up a bottle of Coca-Cola and a pack of chips, because I know how much soda make you wail in disgust. And as I write this, I can picture your silly, almost childish expression, which mixes dismay and disappointment so perfectly, and I can feel the judgment reaches my fingers, travelling from the graphite to my wooden hand.    

Our words aren’t always the sweetest, most ravishing, delicious melody we’ve ever heard. And that last night we shared proves it, down to the ultimate numeral. The simplest ideas we’ve ever shared end up turned into the most disgusting, invasive, tasteless cacophony of feelings and phrases and we hurt one another in this word-fencing game no one will ever truly win.  

I kept believing I would always be the one above everything somehow and I thoroughly believed it, even if my gut roared and raged against my better discernment. However, much like any other human being, I am at fault. And my sins would always fall under the cracks of your skin, poisoning you, until they seeped back into my body, when we touched.

The venom we spilled is as damaging as the substances we would submit to, sometimes. No amount of alcohol, drugs or cigarettes could hold a candle. But the thrills are as enticing. Our hearts pump in override, our tongues dry out in spite, our brains electrify in compensation for our lack of self-control and we lose our senses.

I sometimes feel we must be insane, as we invest such energy and time unto our verbal mind games and not enough in locating the source of all this loathing and misery. It’s always easier to project it all onto someone, rather than come to the gripping realization that we are at fault. I am at fault and so are you. And yet, neither of us was willing to acknowledge that simple fact.

We’re such passionate beings, dear, but as any lust-filled souls, we may often feel tempted to hold our fires against others and fatally eliminate the oxygen from their lungs. And while in our heads, it appears to be a mere instance of taking someone’s breath away and raising them up to our love, somewhere down the line, someone will pass. Someone will simply not endure. And we’ve been playing with fire for so long that we fail to comprehend our own mortality.

Please know I absolutely worshipped your passion. And I know full well how much your idolized mine. Particularly, my singular way of translating it to written word. I will miss the folly that was your mind, whenever you decided to speak it. I will miss the gaze you solely directed at me. I will miss the maddening intensity lurking beneath your seamlessly put-together persona. I will miss so much, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to quantify it.

Now, I hold a pencil as I write to you, because a pen can no longer withstand the realities I have to show you. And I feel like you may be compelled to remove this piece of writing from memory, or at least, from a readable source. As such, I invite you to erase this at your will. Erase this and erase me, too.

I know none of us is going to forget what we lived, so it’s considerably useless to ask you to do it… But erase me. Kindly erase me from your life.

Please know that I love you and I loved you like no other man.

With all of my love and regard,


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