I’m writing you this letter, because you understand what no one else can. I sometimes wish so desperately that you were tangible. I crave to be wrapped in your arms and held in understanding so bad that I literally ache. Writing a letter like this makes it feel a little more tangible.
Jesus, it hurts. I’m hurt. And I’m really, really confused. I look back at my life and see a lot of hurt. Sin. Evil sin. Abuse that tore my soul. But what hurts the most aren’t the events themselves – it was having to pretend like they didn’t hurt. It was having to pretend, not only that I wasn’t hurt, but that I was SUPER. It was the lashes in a soul, a soul screaming desperately, and being told – harshly – to shut up. It was a soul neglected. A soul wounded. A soul in…
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