29 August 2013
Sick in bed. Or maybe just sick in my head. I have things to do but am filled with dread, so am typing this in the dark using my phone. There are many things I want to talk about: a book I just finished, something I watched last night, actions of other people.
I loved your letter and I hate that am following it with this poorly written excuse. I’ll try to see if I can come up with something better later. For now, this.
I am running, I could feel it, but am not sure if it’s away or forwards, to finally hurl myself into the abyss.