Dear Yuki-Onna,
I don’t know why I keep writing to you at this point.
Not only have you erased me from your life as if I’ve never been there, but you also treated our relationship as nonexistent.
Is that what you do to people you know? Act as if they mean nothing?
Because I have a gash in the middle of my black heart and it’s kind of bleeding dark ink onto the keyboard. I blame you for it, by the way.
I blame you for a lot of things. What started it all is when you wrote back to me that day. You shouldn’t have. You didn’t need to. Not when you knew nothing about the stranger who sent you a letter from overseas.
I also blame you for responding religiously every week and making me wait for mail like in an old nineties movie with horrible colors.
But what I blame you for the most is how fucking easy it is to talk to you. To know that there’s someone who waits for my black fucked up letters and opens them every damn week. That there’s a person who thinks of me, reads my words, and considers them important enough to write back immediately.
And it all goes back to the first fucking time.
Why did you reply if you planned to never do it again? Why lead me on when you didn’t think of keeping up with it?
It’s your nasty selfishness, isn’t it?
Ever since the beginning, you only ever cared about yourself, your thoughts, and your damn problems. I put up with it and your character, but I should’ve seen the potential narcissist in you.
It should’ve been easy considering I’m probably one myself.
But narcissists are supposed to stick around, you know. They’re supposed to use people to their benefit and keep telling them boring tales about their fucking lives to feel a sense of grandiose shit.
So why the fuck aren’t you doing it anymore, Naomi?
And why the fuck am I writing this letter I will never send to you anyway?
Because you changed your address and I won’t be able to find your new one.
I guess my existential crisis is turning into a nihilistic one, and I don’t even believe in that fucking shit.
If one day you see this, know that I will never, and I mean never, forgive you.
Don’t live well,
Akira
