Titles speak for itself; this is a one purpose blog.
Why? 'Cause no one else can read it therefore.
Ok, take two. I'm gonna rewrite this whole thing again.
______________________________________
Dear September,
I can't be friends with you. It's so hard, see. It's like being in a car accident, getting traumatised from the experience and then coming back to driving. It takes so much time, and you're jarred for life.
I won't type the reason why, 'cause why should I if I don't even know if you'd want to read this?
This is where it starts:
It took me a while to decide whether or not I should do this; I weighed the pros and cons and decided in the end, wtf. You screw up either way, only this time, he'll know about it.
We've never resolved this properly. You send me a message of sincere apology, and I forgive. Is that a resolution? Or just an agreement? It's just an acceptance to me. Nothing was understood. At least I didn't. This is a shattered mind typing.
That's it from me, the most selfish thing I've ever written.
Even if you never reply, it's good enough that you've read it.
And if I've ever done something to ever make you mad or upset or anything, I sincerely apologise for everything.
I am your past; left behind and faded.
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