Dear

If I would ask myself the reason of my hate for you, I could not provide an answer. But in a way I've hated you for as long as I've known you - it has been years. I no longer see you as anything but a barrier to my success.

My eyes shut as fingers type idly. I notice it is time for a nail cutting session to take place. I reload, I reload again. Nothing. My word document has white spaces, not only margins. My words are nothing more than white spaces. Your words, I don't care for your words.

I said I was a coward because I shirked the words I wanted to say the most: I hate you. Now, now I am a writer.