Dear A.,

Most days, I usually don't give a crap. And I choose to just walk over and look past everything.

...But of course, with everything, there is a balance and so to make up for all the times where I'm just an unfeeling rock, there are days when I'm just annoyed enough to be seething with anger that you can actually see my eyes turn red and smoke come out of my ears.

Here's the deal, monsieur, I don't friggin' care about what the heck is going on with your life, but for you to actually act like a retard is infuriating. I feel as if it is my duty to call the authorities and have you checked into a special care facility where you rightfully belong.

What part of just not caring can you not accept? Is it so hard to see each other, but not look at each other or to be in the same place, but not talk and just simply not care about each other? I can live with it, why can't you? Why do you have to be so effin' vindictive? Like everybody has to hate me because you do.

Did you think I wouldn't find out? Like I said, things have a way of finding me...

Oh wait a minute... Is that it? Are you scared of what people might find out through me. Hahaha. That's fresh. I take it back. You're not a retard. That's actually a pretty smart move. Well done, monsieur.

Breathe easy. Your secret's safe with me, you ungrateful son of a gun.


As Always,
D.