See, I’m starting to get the feeling
that everything I do is pointless. That I’m too weak to make any kind of a
positive difference for anyone. I’ve been battering myself against too many
walls these days—and I said I would stop.
I said I would come back.
I know it’s a bad night. Every night is
a bad night. And I don’t say that to discount it, to write it off, to write you off… No.
But I haven’t been sleeping.
And if tonight is, in fact, the night
that kills you—I will not, I think, even be able to say I should have been
there. I should have stopped you. Because I couldn’t, see. Because this may be
different from these other nights of ours, but also it is not. The fact that I’m
here and you’re there and all I have are words you don’t believe, and you don’t
even know what I look like or how close and how tightly I would hold you if I
could—it’s still the same. Still our constant.
I want to help you, but I can’t. I have
asked you to reach out to the ones who can. It’s on you now. I’m sorry; I know
you feel like nothing should be on you, I know you feel like you can’t do
anything right, but it has to be you, baby.
You have others. I see their messages,
and your answers. I will just be one more. Nothing that tips a balance.
Nothing, really, at all. This is not my fault. But night after night of this,
and I am starting to believe that it is.
I have to be careful.
I’m sorry, but I have to be selfish. I
love you, but I have to be selfish. And you, darling—You, honey, sweetheart, little
one, child of mine who is not mine, my heart is breaking for you— but if you
are going to be saved at all, you have to save yourself.
I hope you wake up tomorrow, to a
sweeter sunrise.
I hope you wake up.
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