Dear Elina
11/02/2004 02:38 a.m.
Before, I used to look at you and hate you. I hated all you stood for. Everything you embodied made me want to kill you, or hurt you in some way. I wanted you to trust me so that I could violate it the way you did. I wanted you to hurt. I wanted to wreck that pretty face of yours so that you had no more crutch to lean against when the world was against you. I wanted to take the vibrato out of your voice. I wanted you to hear everything anyone had ever said about you that wasn't commenting on your pretty pretty face. I wanted you to realize that aside from your face and your voice, people had nothing good to say. I wanted to make you cry. I've never wanted to hurt anyone like I've wanted to hurt you. Your life looks like an act, a scene, a play. You are the character you wish to be in every play. The heroine. The star. I wanted you to fall of your pedastal and realize that your wings are no better fit than mine. I dont want your fame. I never really did.

Now I look at you and I feel nothing. It's like there was such a sweep of rage through me that now a breeze, a single breeze has blown the ashes and char away. Now there is nothing left. Hate has burned a hole in me and there is nothing there but void and loss. I've lost even the image of what I thought you were. I burned it all away and now theres this permanent gaping wound thats been cauterized and you're shape is traced in relief. In negative space. That negative space is just there, inside me, with the wind whistling through it like the moans of a cave. I realize now that all I ever wanted you to be is real. All I ever wanted was for you to come to school with no make up. For you to wear sweats. For you to sing a note wrong and laugh about it. All I ever really really wanted was to be a child with you and run around and do handstands and cartwheels and laugh and joke and not be proper. Not be anything but girls together.

I miss what I remember of you. That fake with glimpses of authentic pieces fleeting like shadows between the trees at nightfall. Those authentic little pieces of the person I thought I knew... they ran like water between my fingers and out of my hands.

I look at you and I see nothing now. We catch eachothers eye and scream and cry for just an instant before i turn away, unable to bear more tears in your name. Why should I cry for nothing but a hole in me? I look at you and ache for a real live person to put there, whos shaped the way you are so that I can feel real again.

Hate has burned me away and left you sobbing. How can I fix it? How can I fix you? How can I show you that all we want you to be is not this plastic doll with a perfect laugh? That we want to see you scrawl your name in pen for once and not in neon lights? This hate has almost ebbed away and the bitterness will soon follow.

Then I wont even have ashes to fill the air with.