Dear Letter,

You sat in my desk for so long, it almost feels empty now that you're not in the drawer. I was so used to opening it up and seeing you sitting there on top. You were always on the top of the pile, the top of my list, the top of everything. I imagined the words enfolded in your envelope were everything I would ever need to hear. I really thought that you were perfext. No mistakes, no blemishes, no scribbles. You were almost too perfect. But one day I left. I left the drawer. I'd tried doing it before...so many times. But this time it worked. I left, and when I came back the letter was gone. I was so afraid I'd miss it once I got back. That I'd want to cry everytime I opened the drawer and feel the loss of the perfect letter. But I never did. I made new letters instead. Maybe even better letters, because they weren't so perfect. I knew the handwriting better, recognized the familiar scrawl, and felt the reality of the words. So, even though I'm better off now, I still remember that perfect letter. It's not as tragic as I always thought it would be, because it was never real to begin with. I can look back and be grateful for what it taught me. I am stronger...but still not perfect. Luckily, now I don't have to be.

Dear Apathy,

I think I've always liked you most. Better than all the rest. You don't hurt my feelings, you don't consume all my thoughts, you don't make me feel worhtless, you don't intimidate me, you don't play with my emotions, you don't send mixed signals, you don't require me to be anything. I miss you more than anyone, because I when I don't have you around everything seems alot harder. Why do I always end up going back to a stove that keeps burning me? I get tired of exhausting all my energy when it amounts to nothing. No matter what I give, it's never enough. But I know I can always depend on you...not to care. It's such a relief. No pretenses, no analyzing, no games, no worries. Just be. Then again, what's the point if you eventually don't feel anything at all?

Dear Broken Record,

I can't stand the way you run through my mind until it makes my head hurt. But I don't want to turn you off either. No matter where I go or what I do, you're still playing. Sometimes it makes me happy, sometimes it makes me sad, sometimes it makes me scared, but most of all it makes me feel. I can't pretend to be numb when you're on repeat. Then I remember you are most likely an innocent bystander. It's not your fault I can't flip the switch. You're just a little record going on and playing your little song. I'm not the only one that's noticed. You're practically a bestseller, no one can get enough of you. So what makes me think I can keep you all to myself? I race around constantly, hoping that if I move fast enough, the music won't go away. But eventually it'll leave. It always does. Until then I'm just left pressing buttons: rewind, replay, rethink, reanalyze, fast forward, skip...but never stop.