Dear Yuki-Onna,
I’m only writing these letters for self-records now.
I lost hope that you’ll ever reply to my previous ones, let alone read this, but I guess old habits die hard.
Every week, I sit in front of my computer and type these things, not because I want to, but because something feels fucking missing if I don’t do it.
*insert shrug here*
My life is going downhill. I thought I hit rock bottom before but, apparently, there are fucking levels for that shit and I’m now in the middle.
Or maybe I’m barely scratching the surface.
I lost my soul. Yeah, funny, I know. The soulless guy actually lost his nonexistent soul.
My crisis is book-worthy, I swear.
But maybe it’s not a crisis, after all, and I’m only imagining things. Maybe my soul is indeed missing and I’m just being a dramatic asshole who needs attention.
I don’t, usually. I’m not you, after all.
Whatever it is, something is missing. And before your head grows in size, no, it’s not you. It’s something in me. I felt it before, but now it’s just empty and soundless.
Maybe it passed away during my sleep.
Maybe Yuki-Onna came through my window, after all, and is now confiscating whatever I have to offer.
Maybe you’re the one who put her up to it. Or maybe she’s you.
Either way, it’s working. My sins are finally catching up to me.
I pray that you’re living a shitty life.
Amen,
Akira
