Dear,

I owe you a love I'm not ready to give.
When I am, I promise I'll never come back.

Love,

I don't miss you as much as I thought I would. I don't miss the arguing and the fighting, the getting too comfortable. That's where it starts- getting too comfortable. Enough to show how truly fantastical everyone's anger can get by testing the limits of everyday dysfunction. You burn straight through the tissue paper thin exteriors and swelter inside people's true marble characters. Marble that hardened, chiseled, and is difficult to change. You break through everyone and worse of all you blur everything. I never knew what was wrong and right, all I knew was what I loved and what I loved was mine. That was the worst mistake of all, I guess. Not knowing that something else exists apart from that. The, "here, I have it all, I no longer need to work towards anything else," mentality fucks you up, fucks everything up.

-Anahi

Dear Postsecret,

I am constantly humbled by the beautiful world. I am lost and misunderstood. I let on to be strong, but instead I became more secretive. When I was young I made a sacrifice for the world before I knew what I was giving up. I made more promises than I could ever keep. I have suffered for a greater good; one I have no clue about. I knew that love wouldn't fix everything if the love wasn't from me to myself. I have vivid and gorgeous dreams. I cry to the music of sad voices asking why they're here. I'm afraid of what my future brings because what if I'm not what I want to be? All I ever wanted was to draw, write, and play music. Everytime I pick up pastels or my notebook or my piano; nothing comes out.
I feel empty and no one cares.

Sincerely,
Sad Voice asking why they're here

To An Issue of a Different Nature,

I misunderstand you. I apologize for that because I now realize that problems do not simply appear for no reason but instead are the consequences of an inappropriate due course of action. These actions may be young ones, birthed by ignorance or curiousity; possibly even a second of stupidity. No matter how it was set it still existed and that miniscule mistake may be the reason why I feel followed. I am followed by a past, by a regret, by those problems. I will continue to misunderstand you until you disappear. Distance makes two fonder. I cannot say that one day I will be fond of you, but I will say that your disappearance will keep me wondering what to do with my life next. After you've gone and disapparated from the platform of my losses.

Yours,
Anahi Duarte

Oh God,

Is it so wrong? So wrong that through this perfection, that through all of this seemingly impenetrable beauty, I still find holes? Perforations caused by my sharp little doubt poking at the most troubled aspects of my heart cannot help but unravel wounds that would have otherwised healed easily. I could not help it, sir, but to bring back a large duffel back full of letters drawn on by broken script, and pictures turned green; every zipper brings another heartache, every pouch has another promise. I dragged it here, I dwell in its contents and I do this for no reason. For no good reason. For no reason other than to remember what it felt like to be stupidly (so very pathetically) so very earnestly (so very deeply) in......

Yours, Anahi

My Dearest Swingset,

For the past two days I've found happiness in nothing but you.
I secretly hope you turn around and betray me somehow.

Sincerely, Anahi

Anahi,

"I love you, my beautiful Constanze. You are the chemical makeup of every breath I take. You are the reason my heart beats. You are the reason for my existence. I live for you; I live to make you happy; I live to make you feel loved; I live for your love."

-Christian