to Bad, from Evil

What to do when you just finished your english exam and you sit there, letting this heat cook you up and thinking about how thirsty or sad or tired you are and this million suicide ideas going through your mind and it has a familiar taste, I think you do it out of sport or habit and never as a real gateway of this life. What scares you, little girl? The fact that you're not sure if you are really yourself or if this other voice you hear is your own rationalization - you created it, or it just appeared, honey? - but it scares you because it's your brain and, oh, look, you still have half an hour left to sit there and think of how miserable you are or how much miserable someone - something - is making you be. I think you're terrified of yourself and I think you realized that you won't live long. You realized it this morning, after that half-baked night waiting for the sun to come out and give you some peace of mind. You're so curious of what's scarying you, what's haunting you, you want to find explanation to this miserable existence of yours, you want someone to tell you how special you are, how powerful your soul is, but you know your soul is old and rather tainted: now what? 

You don't let love come in, darling, you only allow hate and jealousy and remorse enter, and you stir them up, boil them in a cold, burning rage that goes all the way up to your bones, pressures your skull and doesn't allow you to breath, sometimes. You are scared they will open you up and find nothing inside of you, no good, no evil, no light, no abyss, and you'll just be plain old Sofia, being forgot as all humans are. So, my dear, in this letter for you, using your own fingers to write down this words, you might think you're starting to develop some kind of bipolar disorder, or the signs of schizophrenia are starting to show up. But I have yet so many wonderful things to tell you: the demon inside your head, the one you might fear that doesn't exist. I quite pitty you, sometimes, as you find yourself in ways to end up dead at age of 25 just because life is too hard on you or, in other way to see it, you're just not strong enough for this life. You can't even exorcise your own demons, and that made you a even worse demon for yourself that I could ever be. You with you could see me, smilling with my razor-shaped teeth, and boody, red eyes in the mirror, you wish you could feel the fear running through your veins but at least you would know what is real and what is not. Why today?, you may ask. 

Well, what a better time to write to you, my dear, if not right before the time that will take you to self-destruct yourself. Again. So, as my time for you come to an end, I find myself wishing you the best I can. See you in your dreams.