Hello love. Today I cut up your letters. There used to be a time when I would keep everything. Receipts, train tickets, photographs, anything with our name written on it. Our time. To prove to myself, if no one else, that what we had was real, tangible, in my hands. You letters were for me, and no one else, and for me, for once, I let them/you/it go.
I didn’t read them before I made the first cut. I didn’t even want to, because it’s like reoccurring dream that I can never wake up from. And now, I want to wake up.