I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.
Do you know when I miss you? I miss you when I can’t sleep, and it’s three in the morning and my brain automatically calculates what time it is where you are. And I think that I can’t waste my time waiting for you like I used to do. Hoping you’d see me and talk to me.
I miss you when I’m drawing, and have no one to show it to.
I miss you when I think of you, which is becoming less and less.
I should never have given you me. Lord knows what you’ll do with what you know, who’ll you share a piece of me with. I lost control of that. That’s why I’m upset.