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Hey, Chapter 2 (excerpt 2)

. . .

I take a look at Fluffy.

“Time to go for a walk, girl.” I uttered, without even thinking it.

I got her leash and fixed it round her neck. She’s not wild or anything, but so that she doesn’t wander too far and get hit by a car or something. Lagos can be rough like that.

Quickly, she hopped up and began wagging her tail. She knew it was time to take a walk.

When we got outside I discovered that it was raining, drizzling, hardly perceptible from my room. I only get to know it’s raining when it’s really pouring.

“Oga Tobi, long time o,” I hear from some distance. I turn to look, and it’s Mama Junior, owner of the restaurant I usually frequent.

“Yes o. How market now?” I ask.

“Fine o. We thank God. Fluffy fluffy,” she says with a smile as we continue.

As I walk down the street, my mind saunters into a series of flashbacks. I start to think of Jennifer, of the times we spent together. But it’s still all hazy, what I’m actually feeling is despair and confusion and anger.

It was drizzling and I didn’t even feel it. I was a bit happy though, that neighbours didn’t call out to me after Mama Junior. It was only perfect that they left me to my grief.

Usually, shop and restaurant owners would hail at me. That’s the world I’ve come to build.

The rain was beginning to fall in sheets, and Fluffy and I had to hurry back home. My melancholic time under the rain had come to an end.

By the time we get upstairs, we are already wet and dripping. I pick my towel that was hanging on the shower door and towel dry myself and Fluffy. I don’t mind that strands of fur are going to stubbornly cling to the towel. I shake the towel to remove some of the fur and hang it back on the shower door.

I’m still feeling a bit cold from the rain. I put on the TV in the sitting room. Fluffy loves to just lie on the couch and watch TV until she’s tired. I don’t watch with her, I need to be warm, so I go to the room and bury myself under the duvet.

I don’t want to press my phone or anything, I just want to be to myself and process things, but as I lay on the bed thoughts start flooding back, thoughts of Jennifer. I can’t deal with this now, I can’t lay on the bed while these thoughts drown me.

I get up and head for the kitchen. I open the fridge. There are spices and drinks in the fridge, but I don’t need to cook, I’ve never been great at it either. I need to drink. I know it sounds like a bad idea, but anything to take my mind off Jennifer. I pick up an Heineken bottle and close back the fridge. In the uppermost drawer under the kitchen slab there’s a corkscrew which I use in opening the bottle. I take a slug as I head back to the room. Yummy.

I’m drinking and I don’t know what to do with myself. Should I watch a movie on my laptop? I don’t feel like watching a movie. Should I just drink in silence broken by whatever the TV is yapping? That’s even worse than drinking sad. So I decide to play some music.

I get on my chair, turn on my Hp laptop and lunch window’s media player. I play any random song in the playlist because I’m in no mood to start selecting. Music plays as I drink and it actually helps make me feel better until a particular song plays and I am back to me again.

Passenger’s Let Her Go is playing, and I’m stuck at Only know you love her when you let her go. I suddenly become angry when I hear that line.

I get up, take another slug of beer and begin pacing, out the room to the sitting room and back and out again.

“Let her go?” I say to Fluffy as I pace within the sitting room, “Do you think we can let her go?”

Fluffy darts her eyes toward me for a second and fixates on the TV once more. She’s used to me talking to her.

I’m getting bored of this process. I wake my phone and check the time, it’s half past eight. I want to take a bath, but I don’t feel like, what am I bathing for? The water won’t wash my worries away, would it?

I think I need another bottle. I go to the fridge again and get one.

By the time I finish the second bottle, I get a bit tipsy. You might say two bottles is just a start, but a bottle plus confusion is enough to bring an elephant down.

I feel sleepy now. I look over at the sitting room where Fluffy is still watching TV amid all my chaos and get the feeling that she’s not done. I put off the light in the room, bury myself in the blanket and will myself to sleep. The day has run its course, and the last thing I want to think about is Jennifer.

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Hey, Chapter 2 (excerpt 1)

CHAPTER 2

I needed to do something. I needed to talk to someone, go somewhere, anywhere but here.

As I was thinking where to go, Fluffy tiptoed into the room, stared at me for a second and hopped onto the bed just beside me. That’s one thing I love about Fluffy, she always knows when something is wrong.

I grease her furs a little and she ducks, head flat on the bed. Suddenly I find myself talking to her.

“She’s gone,” I say, “She’s left us, buddy. She didn’t even think of you when she said This has to end. All those days she pretended to care, all the food she brought for you… I’m sorry, Fluff, that I let her into our lives, that I let a stranger into our lives.”

I have come to see Fluffy as more than just a pet, she’s a companion of sorts. Often I just talk to her for minutes on end, as though she could understand me. I really think she understands me most times, maybe the tone of my voice, she can always tell when I’m relaxed or edgy.

Fluffy didn’t nudge or hum when I talked to her. For some reason that consoled me a bit. At that moment she was good as a shrink. She’s a good listener like that.

I still wanted to step out despite the little respite Fluffy’s presence granted me. Most importantly, I wanted to talk to someone about everything, someone that understood me well enough, not for the person to be bias towards me, but for the truth. I needed to hear that I did something wrong, that it was all my fault, that I could still salvage the situation, turn things around.

I knew the right person to call for that kind of feedback, Abdul.

Abdul and I have been friends since university. I can’t remember exactly when our friendship thickened, but I know exactly how. A coursemate who also resided in the same dormitory as I wanted to borrow a textbook from a particular friend of his. Although this friend belonged to a different department, he was taking an elective course from his department. I accompanied my coursemate to his friend’s just to kill time (50% of school is killing time). When we got there, I was introduced to no other than Abdul.

We met Abdul in a rather hazy state, and he began to tell my coursemate what happened. There was this girl he approached by the supermarket, just to talk, and she blew him away in such a way that he couldn’t believe his eyes. We sat and began analysing the matter. Why did she tell him off? Did he say something wrong? Did he not put on the right clothes? Did he walk in an inappropriate manner?

Abdul and I talked interminably about his experience. We talked deep, about his body language, facial expressions, tone, game play, to the astonishment of my coursemate. That was how we clicked, and over time the bond grew stronger.

I picked my phone and dialed Abdul.

“Tobistic Tobi!” He exclaimed as he picked.

We often use such extolments when we talk.

“Mehn, Abdul…”

I could tell he quickly noticed something was wrong.

“My man, are you okay? You sound like something died.”

“Yes, Abdul, something died.”

“Tobi… what happened? Is Fluffy okay?”

“Fluffy is okay,” I replied.

“Then talk now, what’s happening?” He pressures.

“Mehn, Abdul…” I still couldn’t seem to mutter it out.

“Talk now, Tobs, is it Jenny? Is she messing up again?”

When it comes to Abdul, Jennifer is almost always causing trouble. Let’s be practical, he’s not that far off. He had come to know Jennifer, and her narcissistic nature.

“It’s Jennifer o.” I drawl.

“Tobi, I warned you now, I told you to get out before she hurt you, I told you.”

Yea, Tobi had warned me countless times to be wary of Jennifer and her vices, but I was in love. I’m still in love.

“What did she do this time?” He asks.

“Mehn, she broke up with me o.”

I just put it there like that, I didn’t want to drawl any longer before it began to look like I lost somebody.

“What?!”

“Yea.” I said briskly.

“Wow,” he sighed, as if taking it all in, as if feeling my pain.

I was happy that I was talking with Abdul about my breakup, because he’s one person that understands things in-depth. Before the recent development, Abdul and I would analyse my relationship in great extent; things I could do to make it better, things I should try to change about Jennifer, things I should beware of.

After a script-like silence, Abdul finally asked the much anticipated question, “How did it happen?” His voice devoid of life.

I told Abdul about Sunday evening. I told him how I went to Jennifer’s for dinner. I told him how I got hold of her phone. I told him about how I went to her Whatsapp. I told him about Patrick, about the kiss, about the three dreaded words, and about her message earlier in the day.

“…and what’s painful is that she tried to change the topic, Abdul. She tried to make it about how I snooped on her phone and not about how she cheated on me.”

“Of course now, she’s a girl, she would always have an angle on these kind of things. You did not expect her to just admit guilt, did you?”

“Common, Abdul, you know this girl, you know Jennifer, you know how she never takes blame for her own actions. I just needed her once in her f–,” I paused, “–once in her life to just take blame for this one thing, to just admit that she was wrong.”

“Easy, guy, I know how you feel. You know what happened with me and Aisha now, you know how she was. I’ve been in your shoes, bro, I’ve been there. The drama, the blame game, I’ve been there, bro.”

A little silence ensued.

“Damn,” he continued, “You mean she just ended it just like that? But wait o, This has to end isn’t exactly breaking up. She–”

I cut him short, “Common, man, this is Jennifer we’re talking about. I know her. This is her way out of an impossible situation. I caught her dead in her tracks, and this is the only way she gets out, by actually getting out.”

“You’re right, I think you’re right.”

Another brief silence ensued.

“So what are you going to do now?”

“Mehn, I don’t know, bro, I’m so confused right now. Maybe I’d just take a stroll or something.”

“I know you, Tobi, you’re going to go after her, you’re going to try to get her back.”

“Get who back, that narcissistic mistake for a girlfriend?” I reply, but in my heart I know he’s right, I know I’m going to go after her in a bid to make sense of her actions. She still has some explaining to do.

“No issues though,” he said, “Just take care of yourself. How’s Fluffy?”

“Fluffy is Fluffy, man, just doing her thing.”

“Aiit, we’d talk soon. Be safe, man.”

And the call ends.

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Hey, Chapter 1 (excerpt 2)

I wanted to be angry after that, but I was too mesmerised to be choleric. I closed Whatsapp and put her phone back at exactly the spot I picked it. “Who was that?” She asked, walking in from the kitchen. I told her I didn’t look, I just picked it instantly. But I lied. The actually truth was that I was too angry to remember who called her. She shrugged, picked her phone, and headed back to the kitchen.

When she brought the fried rice garnished with prawns, green beans and salad, I just couldn’t eat, my appetite wouldn’t let me. She looked at me, flummoxed, as if wondering where the new temperament came from. I didn’t do too well either hiding my expression from her. I excused myself and told her I had to leave. “Who’s going to eat all these food?” She said, but I couldn’t care less.

She called me about ten times before I got home but I didn’t pick. I didn’t care if she knew we were getting into a quarrel. I couldn’t pretend after what I saw; a kiss, a freaking kiss! And then the three unspoken words. I was so pained that I could feel my veins pulsing. I just didn’t want to unleash it on her, not yet. I tried to keep myself together until I got home. I didn’t even smile when a very cute baby looked at me in the bus with those innocent eyes that told the tales of worlds unknown.

Later at night, hours after the incident, she called. I was calmer then, calm enough to have a structured conversation with her.

“Hello, Tobi,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied, “What is it?”

“What is wrong with you?” she starts, “You just walked out and you don’t care to explain why.”

Silence fell for a few seconds. Anger was brewing and I was doing all in my power not let it out, because we both knew I was a mess when angry.

“See, you have started again. This is what you do, picking issues from the air. I have no time for this. I’ve got work tomorrow, so just spit it out.”

She has no time for this. She cheated on me for crying out fucking loud! And she has no time for this? I just couldn’t hold it, so I came in.

“Who is Patrick?” is all I could muster.

She gave a long laugh. She laughed, as if nothing was wrong. And I thought, you can’t deceive me on this one, you can’t turn the table around. She laughs when she’s about to turn the table around, like she’s mocking you.

“I know you have no brother or cousin that is Patrick, so again, who is Patrick?”

Silence fell, the sound of guilt.

“Did you snoop on my phone?” She asked, in a defensive tone.

“Who is Patrick,” I retorted, “Don’t deviate from the question.”

“Jesus, Tobi, have you descended that low?”

“Answer the fucking question,” I blurted.

“Hey, when you’re ready to talk to me with respect call me back.”

And she cut the call.

I tried getting my tentacles in place after that call. She’s trying to turn this around I thought. It’s what she always does whenever she feels attacked.

Jennifer is one person that’s never wrong, an archetypical narcissist. If the sun shone too brightly on her face it was someone else’s fault. If she stubbed a toe, it was the stupid stone’s fault. It was that bad. She never took blame for anything. And on the countable days that she did, it wasn’t clean, because she was going to turn around and put it all on you.

I sent her a series of facebook messages in anguish which she didn’t reply. She was planning an attack, I was sure of it. That kind of narcissistic attack you had no defense against. I longed for her case, I longed for what she had to say, how she’d get out of this one.

Two days after the incident, she texted me on Whatsapp. That was on a Tuesday. The same Whatsapp I caught her cheating on me on.

Hi Tobi. I saw your missed calls. As you well know, I can’t pick, because right now you’re not stable and I can’t talk to you that way.

What?! I thought. I’m not stable? Wow. I replied immediately as she was still typing.

Wow, Jenny, so fucking low of you to suggest I’m not stable even when you’re flat out wrong. You cheated on me Jennifer. Don’t try to meander your way out of this one. Just admit it. Gosh! Why is it so fucking hard for you to admit your own wrong?

I  tapped send. Immediately another message came in.

See, Tobi, we don’t have to do this, we’re not kids. Besides, I’m at work, I can’t be exchanging insults with you, I don’t have that time. I texted you to let you know that I’m tired of going back and forth. This has to end.

I was caught in my tracks. This has to end. What did she mean? I’m tired of going back and forth. What again did she mean? I was so confused after reading her last message. Would she do the unbelievable, opt out as a way of winning an argument? Was her narcissism that deep? WOW. This has to end… she’s breaking up with me! She’s breaking up with me because for once I have her and this is the only way she can escape.

I needed a drink after our chat ended, but it was too early in the day to start drinking, the sun hadn’t even reached its peak. She can’t break up with me, not when she has some explaining to do, I kept thinking as I sat on my bed, motionless.

 

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Hey, Chapter 1 (excerpt 1)

CHAPTER 1

 

My room is a colossal mess. There are three Heineken bottles that form a triangle on the mahogany computer table, and two just beside the foot of the table. I have been drinking, obviously. There are unwashed cups and plates surrounding my half-open laptop on the table. There are clothes lying askew on the bed, dirty clothes, pressed in a manner that suggests I have been sleeping on them a while. My room reeks of the pungent smell of alcohol and everything else. The carpet is tainted with bread crumbs all the way to the sitting room.

I am sitting in front of the table on an armless wooden chair facing the blue painted wall. I have a fountain pen in my hand, a gift from dad on my 23rd birthday. There’s a blank sheet of A4 paper clamped down by the inside of my upper right arm. I want to write to her, I wish to write to her, but my trembling fingers deny me such mercy. I am heartbroken, anyone can tell. I am also in disbelief. My world is literally breaking down in from of me. I am in pain, immense pain, and all these anticlimactic emotions prevent him from expressing himself.

She broke up with him. I’m tired of going back and forth, she said. A part of me wishes that this is like all the other episodes where I apologise for being a jerk and she brings me back into her arms. But deep inside, I know, I know this might be the straw that finally breaks the camel’s back. But still I can’t believe it, I would have any other emotion but this. How did it come to this? How am I here, on this rigid chair, trembling and sobbing?

A tear drops on the still empty sheet of paper. Why am I crying? Would she be crying right now? Why am I always the one on the defensive? Well, that’s not exactly true, she begs too when she admits she’s at fault, which is very rare, as rare as a solar eclipse.

But I must write, because that’s the pact we made. We swore to always write to each other, not on Facebook or Whatsapp, but old-school, just the way it was done in the old days before technology came and swept the art away. It was our thing, it was how we differentiated ourselves from the multitude of other stereotypical relationships.

But should I be writing on this rainy Sunday evening or running off to her place and screaming her name from the balcony, prophesying my undying love for her, just the way Romeo did with Juliet in the balcony scene?

Except that flat 9, Block D, Moore Road, Yaba, has no balcony, and screaming her name from downstairs would attract other tenants who would think I’m mad. Madly in love, yes.

But why does love have to be accompanied by hate? Why is every moment in love so fragile as an egg? A wrong word and what has taken eternity to build is on the butcher’s table ready to be slaughtered precisely.

Jennifer and I haven’t always been at crosshairs, you know. There have been moments of intense joy and fun. Like the day at the mall when I was so engulfed with her, I planted a kiss on her succulent lips to the amusement of everyone that watched. She was blushed, and I could tell she loved it. Or the day I did a phony proposal; I went on my knees and brought out a black velvet box. I opened it. It wasn’t a ring inside, it was a wrapped note, with the words I LOVE YOU written in it. Maybe I was too full of myself that day, because though she was flattered, she was also embarrassed. And that led to one of our serious breakups.

Yea, we’ve broken up like two times before, this one making three. There’s something about the number three that signals finality. The first time we broke up was because I choked her, or so she claimed. To me though, I was just showing love, expressing myself. But to her it was too much and I needed to slow the pace. I think she said, the candle is burning too fast. What candle? Is she happy now that it’s all wax? So she told me she needed a break to breathe. It was hell for me, nothing compared to now though, but after a week I went back and demanded we fix things, like a real man.

The second time was the ring, or the ring cum note. She accused me of being childish, banal. She said I embarrassed her in front of onlookers. She said everything didn’t have to be about words and writing and that she could never take me seriously after that.

Two days later I appeared at her doorstep with five packs of Hollandia Yoghurt, vanilla flavour, and a sombre face. She pulled me in with tears and gave me a long kiss that ended blissfully.

Things went smoothly after that, until last week. I was at her place, her phone rang, but she was in the kitchen so I picked the call but it cut just after I did. I decided to look through her phone, okay, I admit, I was snooping. But I realised that I had never really looked through her phone before and the opportunity was quite seducing. So I opened Whatsapp and saw this conversation between her and one Patrick dude. Patrick… such an ugly name. What I saw that day made my body cold instantly, I could feel the life retreating from my face. In one text, she kissed him or sent him a kiss with love at the lips smiley. And in another part he kind of cajoled her into tell him she loved him. And she did!

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Tobi, Monday, 9 October. Evening

 TOBI
. . .

MONDAY, 9 OCTOBER, 2017

EVENING

I’m reading Vivian’s last letter to me, again. She’s always telling me to get some help. I don’t know what she means by that, like I’m the worst human being on earth. I fold back the letter, open the drawer under the tabletop and toss it in. I can imagine what she must think of me. She must think I’m a spoilt brat that’s got no clue about life. She must think I’m over-pampered. She must think we’re so never getting back together. 

I’m hearing sizzling sounds outside; the sound of impatient winds, the sound of pregnant skies. I can tell through the curtain that daylight has taken cover. It’s dark outside, a sweet kind of darkness. I can imagine commuters on the streets, they are taking shelter under bus stop shades, dreading what is to come. What is heaven for me is hell for them. But such is life, I guess.

I’m wondering what to do now. Sleep or write? The bed looks so very convenient right now, it’s like it’s calling at me, Come to me, come over and enjoy this weather with me. I don’t fall so easy. I wish to write. Every part of me wishes to write. There’s so much in my mind, I just want to pour it all out. I just want to get some ease, some peace. But I can’t write. Not because I have writer’s block or whatever, but because I don’t know how to continue. Everything is changing so rapidly. Names are changing, settings are changing… looks are changing! Like what the hell! I hate myself right now, even more than Vee hates me. Does she really hate me or pity me? I can’t tell the difference anymore.

I think of Vivian again. I imagine what her life must be. She’s working class now. She dresses up early in the morning and zooms off to work, some branch in the State capital, Ikeja. I imagine what transportation must be like for her daily; the bustle and wrestle just to get on a bus. Thank God for BRT buses, now people line up like normal human beings. But sometimes the BRTs are too slow and you have no choice but to board the conventional danfo: yellow Volkswagen vans that have conductors shouting at the peak of their voices in search for passengers.

It’s raining now, alternating between drizzling and downpour, just the way it did yesterday. Makes me think if the rainy season will ever come to an end. Also makes me think of global warming.

I finally yield to the bed’s call. I move my laptop from the table unto the bed. It feels convenient. Maybe I’d actually write here. But I still don’t feel like writing, and the more I think of writing the more my head hurts. I hop up and pull open the fridge. There’s one last bottle of Heineken left. I pop it open and take a long sip… heavenly. Maybe this will open me up and bring me some fresh ideas. Or maybe this will send me off to bed.

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Vivian, Monday, 9 October

VIVIAN
. . .

MONDAY, 9 OCTOBER, 2017

MORNING

 

This is around the time the alarm rings, I think in my sleep. I wake up just before my phone blares off. I scurry for my phone in the dark and check the time. It’s 4:59 a.m. Wow, my mental clock is spot on again. Does this mean it’s going to be a wonderful day?

It’s Monday. Work is usually crazy today; all the work we lazily left in anticipation of the weekend. A stream of my boss in action comes to mind. I don’t let it weigh me down. I have to prepare for work.

I get out of my nighties and hop into the bath. I’m all done in mere minutes.

Skirt or pants? I catch myself tinkering. Pants, I decide. I want to look smart today as I don’t know what to expect.

I dart to the kitchen and fry me some eggs. There’s a quarter loaf of bread on the slab. I fetch 3 slices. I look at my watch for the time. It’s 5:30 a.m. I really need to speed things up. I quickly empty my plate, more like gobble.

I’m out. The streets are usually empty this early in the morning except for bag snatchers that draw at your bag if you’re not holding it tightly. I clench the handle at the thought. A danfo pulls over at my front. The conductor doesn’t need to shout this early. The madness hasn’t begun yet. He says almost in a whisper ‘Ikeja’, and I board.

I’m at work. It’s crazy; customers keep calling and appearing with all sorts of worries. The fear of marketing is the beginning of healthy living. But I asked for this, I trained for this, for months.

A message buzzes in. I check. It’s Tobi. I wince. What does he want to say this time? I read the message:

You had the whole weekend
to write back to me. Are you
chickening out of our pact?

You got to be kidding me.

I’m so not replying this.

 

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Tobi, Monday, 9 October

 TOBI
. . .

MONDAY, 9 OCTOBER, 2017

MORNING

 

Blaring horns and raucous babble seep into my sleep. It’s the usual, but it gets me thinking, Can’t anyone get some sleep in this freaking city?!

I trundle up. Today I want to do things fast, or at least start the day with precision. I make for the bathroom and quickly brush my teeth. I put some water on the fire for bathing. I want to be brisk, but it doesn’t mean I must bathe cold water.

Puppy, my fast growing bulldog is flat on the other side of the bed. I signal for him to follow me and he springs up. We both stroll to the kitchen where I unroll his bag of dog food and poor him some in his bowl.

The day is promising, hot. I guess the heat signals the end of the wet season. But it’s camouflage, because in mere hours heavy rain is going to be pelting down.

After taking my bath, I head downstairs to my mailbox half expecting to see a letter from Vivian. Puppy follows. In my heart I’m happy that she’s kept to our pact thus far, that she hasn’t damned the consequences, that’s if there are any. I open the lid and the box is empty. I’m sad. She had the whole weekend to write back to me. Could it be that she’s double thinking about the pact? Maybe she thinks it was childish after all. But we made the pact in love. People do childish things in love.

I take out my phone from my pocket and open Facebook Messenger. I write her a message:

You had the whole weekend
to write back to me. Are you
chickening out of our pact?

I know she hasn’t seen it because her tiny picture hasn’t dropped under the message. But it’s blue and sent. She’d probably read it after work.

I feel childish, I feel like I’m distracting her from something more serious. But the pact is serious to me too, to us. We made an agreement to always write each other letters, no matter what happens, to preserve the age-old art of letterwriting. My mind darts to the times we were still together; we would write letters to each other and bring it along to a date. It was our thing, it was one of the things that set us apart from thousands of other lovers around.

I head back upstairs, past the floors of flats. Today I imagine I’m going to write something. I must write something. Everyone is at work doing something, right? So naturally I must be doing something too. Writing is more than just art, it’s a job.

I do some push-ups to heat my body and soul for the task at hand. I flip open my laptop and launch Word. First thing I see is the cursor blinking at the end of the last word. I blink back. Empty.

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Reply to Hey 40

Hey,

Don’t you feel you should be telling all that to a shrink? As you figured, I really have no time to indulge in your ricochets. Work is crazy. And it’s getting crazier. Everyone’s got problems, you know? So think about this. Putting yours on me is unfair. So I say to you again, get some help. Before things get worse. Because they will.

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Hey 40

1

 

Hey,

Today is just bleh. Just there. I don’t feel like stepping out today. I have enough food for Puppy and I to last days. So I don’t need to step out anytime soon. Puppy is gradually becoming a monster. I don’t think my room would be able to house us both in some months time. Imagine two monsters in an enclosed space. What else could go wrong? But I don’t feel like a monster today. Instead, my thoughts are darting about the room like stray bullets. And I’m in the crosshairs. I feel small. But powerful. Half the time I’m confused about everything. Why am I here? Why do I exist? Why is existence so painful and pointless? And why does no one care to ask these questions? I feel lost. Then found. Then lost again. I’m sorry, it sounds like I’m asking you these questions that have all sorts of obscure answers. Or no answers at all. I just feel I can share these things with you. I know you have no time to indulge such luxury thoughts. But sometimes I feel you’re like this wall I can talk to. No offence. You’re strong. Focused. And practical. And I’m just idealistic and metaphysical. Maybe I’m not meant for this world. Maybe death is the answer. Maybe death brings the peace that life can’t afford. But then why is it so fucking hard to take your own life? I mean, I’m so smart to know that death is the answer, right? But I can’t take that pill. Why?

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Hey 39

1

 

Hey,

You’re wrong. I didn’t force love on you. Love is a choice, and you had your choice to make. You made a choice to fall in love with me. I didn’t force you. So let’s get that straight, please. And I’m getting tired of the insults. I need a clear head now more than ever. You’ve made your point. You don’t love me anymore. And I think I can live with that. I will try to live with that. But please, no more insults. That I can’t live with. You’ve always been better at throwing tantrums than me. All I want to do is live a peaceful life. I don’t want drama. All I want to do is love and be loved. Is that too much to ask? Why is life so freaking difficult? Why can’t we just love? Why is the girl in the busy walkway so sad? Why has the guy in the lonely subway been rejected over and over again? I guess love makes us sad in the end. You said I just kept going deep and deep. But really, is there any depth to love? Is there a limit on love?

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Reply to Hey 38

1

 

Hey,

Let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t beg for your love. Okay? Remember how we met? You were buzzing me on Facebook, telling me how you understand how I feel about not landing a job yet, talking about how the system is flawed and all that. You came to me. Not the other way around. So stop bantering about how I can’t love and how you love me. I didn’t ask for it. We got together, and I tried my best to love you. But over time I just realized that you were one impossible person to love. Love wasn’t okay for you. You just kept going deep and deep comparing love to things that had nothing to do with love. I had to breathe, okay? That is why we’re not together, because you fuck everything up. It’s you. It’s what you do. And now we’re broken up and you still want to fuck it up. Common! Is there any limit to your fucked up state?

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Hey 38

1

 

Hey,

I know what you expect me to do right now is to beg again and promise not to get you angry next time. Have you realized how many ‘last warnings’ you’ve given me recently? You’re good at this. No. You’re great at this. Torturing me. You know the things to say to get me kneeling at your feet. But not this time. Do your worst. I won’t beg you to be human. What have I done to you? Is it a crime to love you? Yea! I love you! I know that looks like the biggest mistake of all time, but I do. You can make me regret it all you want, but I love you, because I still think of you, of us. I just don’t know why you can’t love me back. Why is it so hard for you to love me back. Am I not loveable? Am I not deserving of love? Why is your heart stony toward me? You’re like this wall that just won’t crack. But then you’re not a wall, you’re a human being that wants so badly to be a wall. A heart of stone. I think it’s better for me to be in my bubble and be sensitive than for me to be out there and be walking dead.

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Reply to Hey 37

1

 

Hey,

This is the kind of thing I hate. You make me regret making that pact with you. What part of it’s over don’t you understand? WE ARE DONE. And there’s nothing you can say to change that. I didn’t understand your love or whatever. I don’t fucking care. What good has your love done to you? You just come up with these bullshit and think you’re making sense. Well, think again! Because only you exists in that shrinking bubble of yours. And no one wants to join you there. Telling me that I don’t understand love is one of your pitiful attempts at making sense. But it’s all senseless. What has the mind’s eye got to do with it. You think I don’t know of the mind’s eye? What has all these things got to do with love?! You make up trash and expect the world to digest it. You know what I think your problem is? You got too much time on your hands! If you were actually working, then you won’t put so much thought into something as simple and instinctive as love. Get a job. I’ve told you before. Get a life. And remember that the pact didn’t include reading the letters. I’ve told you before, I could decide not to read your letters anymore. I’ve been pitying you and you’ve been stretching it. Consider this your last warning.

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Hey 37

1

 

Hey,

Okay, I get it, you can’t care more than you can care. I’ve observed this restraint in you, during our elongated time together. You always had love in your eyes but your body spoke a different language. It’s like a part you tries not to show what’s in your heart. Maybe you think it’s a weakness. I remember when I’d kiss you on the forehead and you’d wonder what it was all for. To me it was a deep show of affection, a blessing of sort. But to you it was extravagant. A normal kiss will do. I tried to explain to you how every kiss meant something different, but I’m sure to you my explanation was writer’s exuberance. Thinking back, I think I loved you too hard for nothing. You just didn’t understand my love. Or maybe you don’t understand love at all. You don’t understand what it means to place my forehead on yours. The forehead is like the seat of the mind, and placing mine on yours meant that I wanted our minds to bond on a mind-blowing level. Do you even know about the mind’s eye? I tried to educate you once but you blew it off. Exuberance, right?

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Reply to Hey 36

1

 

Hey,

You needn’t remind me that I made a pact. I know. But I’m busy. And writing you all the time is a luxury I can’t afford. You said I can care more? But in what capacity is that? A friend? Or what? You have to state things clearly. I will write to you when I have the chance, but caring more? That’s not a factor. You’d have to do with whatever I write to you. That’s the way this is.

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Hey 36

1

 

Hey,

Puppy fell ill. I took him to the vet. He’s doing just fine too. It’s strange how having a dog around forces me to go outside and mingle. I think it’s a good sign. Hey, you don’t check up anymore. Not that you often do though. But I feel a tad good when you reply my letter. We made a pact, you know? And you have to keep your end of the pact. I remember how we would write letters to each other, envelop them and put them under the pillow. I’d find mine and suddenly become flattered. Reading your letters to me was always a delight. They were more vibrant and filled with love than now. I know things have change, but I’m just saying. I don’t expect you to love me like you did while we were still together. But I guess you can care more.

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Hey 35

1

 

Hey,

You haven’t replied my last two letters. What’s wrong? Well, for what it’s worth, Puppy is doing well, growing well too. I took a walk with him yesterday and people just kept gazing at us like what a wonderful pair. I think he misses his mum. I don’t think puppies should be away from their mothers at this stage. I mean, he’s so little. Can you imagine a baby of a few months taken from his mother? How do you think that baby would feel? Why do we humans do to animals what we don’t want done to us? Well, besides all the philosophical ramblings, I’m trying my best to take care of Puppy. He likes milk. I could watch him beat a bowl of milk with his tongue all day. I can imagine what he’d look like in a few months time. All grown up. They say they become less admirable when they’re grown. Well, you can say the same of human children too. I bet I was mum and dad’s delight when I was a baby. I can’t tell about now. I guess I’m a concern now. Funny but true.

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Hey 34

1

 

Hey,

I woke up today on the wrong side of the planet. Sometimes I get this feeling. I wake up and my mood is very unlike the day before. And it’s a scary feeling too. It reminds me that change is constant. But I need mood swings right now, I need focus. I need consistency. How should I write when I can’t even control my mood? Plus it takes a hell of a time for me to get back on track. I think it was a dream that caused it. I don’t understand my dreams anymore. Many years ago my dreams were vivid. But now, they are just poundings. I just get pounded at night. I wake up and I can’t tell the meaning of it all. All I can tell is that my head becomes fucked up. I think I’m still going to try writing. It is at these moments that writing becomes more than just a hobby and more of a need. I need to write the bad feelings away.

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Hey 33

1

 

Hey,

I can imagine what your workplace is like, the drama that ensues. I think it’s giving me an idea for a particular scene in my book. You know I’m writing again, right? Well, it’s not fun, but I’m progressing. I remember I told you that the antagonist of my book might just die after all. But I think she’s putting up a fight. It’s her next kill that scares me most. Do you think there could be a book where the protagonist dies and the antagonist lives on? Would it make for an interesting book? You see, I’m a fan of ‘let the story lead you’, but I think I might just cut her short if she’s proving to be a diehard. Readers still need to believe that good prevails. Right? The bad guy lives on and the good guy dies and readers are lost on the moral of the story. So I think I might just kill her myself. I mean, I’m the writer, right? I have the power to do that. I have the power to kill any character. Let’s watch and see.

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Reply to Hey 32

1

 

Hey,

Congrats on the new dog. You asked about my work. Well, same old. My boss is forever a pain in my ass. I think he’s projecting his personal issues on us somehow. He literally takes the job personally, and he’s not even the owner of the company. I’m not saying it’s a bad idea to involve yourself to that level, just that his own is too much. He gets on about how we’re not meeting up targets and then he deviates and just goes on and on. Totally unrelated. And what’s worse is that my colleagues and I must listen to him. It’s sickening. Well, thanks for asking though. So take good care of yourself and the puppy. And whether there’s someone in my life, I’m sorry I can’t disclose. Take care.

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Hey 32

1

 

Hey,

Great news. I got a puppy bulldog, courtesy of dad. He’s brown with splashes of white. And he’s got skin too! Lots of skin. Dad called in some days ago and asked what kind of dog I like, and I told him. I’m so happy. I mean, it’s captivating taking care of a dog once more. Plus this means I get to go out often. Puppy needs to eat, right? I think that’s what I’d name him. Puppy. I was deliberating on the name, but now that I’m writing to you it’s all clear. So how have you been? I noticed I talk more about myself when I write to you. Not so nice. So tell me about your job and the new someone in your life if there’s any.

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Hey 31

1

 

Hey,

Thanks for coming through. I really appreciate. I found a website that showcases dogs for sale. But their prices are just too absurd. I still imagine fluffy sometimes. She liked cushy surfaces. Sometimes I try to imagine what her killer looks like. I think he’s bald, and calculating. The kind that rarely talks. I then try to imagine why he hates dogs. Maybe he had a cute little daughter, the kind everybody wants to say hello to. And then a dog killed her. And since then he has made it his life’s purpose to kill dogs. Not just any dog, but the dog he connects with. Do you think she struggled? For how long? I can imagine how painful it is to die by drowning. I remember when I was little. Dad would bath us and when it reached my turn I’d wish I could just disappear from the surface of the earth. I hated water touching my face. When he poured some over my head, I’d suddenly feel as though I were drowning. My breath would suddenly cease as I wrestled for the downpour to be over so I could get a chance to breathe again. Poor Fluffy. She must have gone through worse. I hope somehow her killer is brought to justice.

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Hey 30

1

 

Hey,

I need your help. My meter reading is low. I think I’m going to run out of watts in a day or two. Could you buy me some units? I’d send you the money via internet banking. I just can’t imagine myself in darkness. Trust me, I’d have gone myself, but I’m not in any shape to be outside right now. I tried sending the bike guy but his plate is full. I know you’re going to judge me again. You’re going to think I’m weak for being trapped indoors. I just wish someday you understand. I must say that this letter is a bit unconventional. And no, I’m not coming up with yet another stunt to get your attention. I heard that you can recharge your meter online and all that, but I haven’t given it much thought. I’d be really grateful if you can do this for me. Thanks. Really.

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Hey 29

1

 

Hey,

You think I’ve not tried going out? You think I’ve not tried being out? I am an introvert! Do you know what that means? It means I have difficulties socialising. You know what I’m just realising? It’s not only me that doesn’t understand you. You too do not understand me. Three years and you’re still talking to me this way. You think I’m in this ‘shell’ by choice? Remember the day I called you to meet me at the bus station because I was too panicked to board a bus? You actually showed more sensitivity then. Or you were just blinded by love. This is me. I panic when I’m in a crowd. I was born this way. Do I wish I was different? Hell fucking yea! But there are just some things we can’t change.

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Reply to Hey 28

1

 

Hey,

You think I’m treating you badly? Life is going to treat you worse if you don’t get out of your shell. What is there to make sense of? We were together for three years thereabout, and now we are no longer together. You think I don’t have memories of us together, that I’ve forgotten everything? If I’m truly what you think I am then why am I still writing you? Because we made a pact? If I’m truly blunt as you say then I would have forgotten the pact altogether. I’m just being realistic with life. If I sit at home only thinking of every moment I had with you, who would pay the bills? You see, unlike you, I have a real job, real needs to attend to. It’s easy for you to call names from the confines of your room. Why not come out and get a taste of the real world?

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Hey 28

1

 

Hey,

You think I haven’t thought about paying you a visit? Well, I have. But I played it all in my head and decided it wasn’t a good idea to show up physically at your doorstep. Let’s say I show up at your doorstep… I just feel the letters give me an advantage, because if you see me face-to-face… I just feel it will be awkward. You appear so emotionally blunt and seeing you might rub it off on me. I’m not trying to abuse the pact we made, I just feel you’re the only person I can truly confide in. Even though you treat me like crap. Baby, we were together for three years. A whole three years. Common, you don’t expect that everything just die off just like that. I write you because I’m trying to make sense of what’s happening to me, how you are treating me. I don’t understand. I don’t understand you.

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Hey 27

1

 

Hey,

I woke up with a banging headache today. I think I drank too much yesterday. Way too much actually. And it’s really unlike me. I feel I’m dealing with too much right now. You know what’s worse than drinking? Drinking alone. That shit scares the shit out of me. But I did it anyways. And I feel good, besides the headache. And what’s even better is that I wasn’t thinking about you. Maybe I’m actually moving on. I feel light. Like a boulder has been lifted off my head. I’m thinking of taking a stroll today. Of course not in the room. Out. Remember how I pace up and down my room? I’m pacing more these days. I do it when I write. It helps the ideas flow around better. I was actually writing yesterday when I thought I should have a drink. I called the bar downstairs and ordered some bottles. Just beer, but it did the trick. The drinking was depressing, but the aftereffect is just sublime. Now I know why most legendary writers drank a lot. It kinda opens you up. I’m going to write today. Wish me luck.

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Hey 26

1

 

Hey,

I saw your post on Facebook about work and all. I never knew it was that bad. I think you should take a leave or something. My brother, Collins, works in a bank too. He tells me often about the unrealistic targets set for him and how he has to magically meet them all. Sometimes I wonder why jobs have to be so hard and impossible. People work so hard and yet aren’t happy. I wanted to comment on the post, but I’m not so active on social media these days and I intend to keep it that way. And it’s your fault kind of. You made me post pictures of us while we were still together. If I delete those posts now people will know that something happened. And the fact that I haven’t posted new pics of us is already make people suspicious. So I decided to stay off social media altogether because I don’t want to answer questions. Besides, Facebookers are always craving for the full gist of every breakup. I don’t want to give them that satisfaction.

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Hey 25

1

 

Hey,

I like the way you get so concerned for me while leaving yourself out of the equation. It’s my pain. It’s my breakup. You? You have nothing to do with all of it. In fact, you were never in a relationship with me. Your kind of narcissism is unparalleled. Why are you so obsessed with being right all the time? I remember the many times we argued about this. I tried to make you see that being in love isn’t about being right or wrong. I think you’re scared of owning up to your actions. You’re scared of blame. You’re scared of taking responsibility for something you helped destroy. I wonder how you live life this way. You talk as though I’m the only one that has something to learn. But I think you have something to learn too. You must learn to be wrong. You must learn to be sorry.

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Reply to Hey 24

1

 

Hey,

You really have to stop making people feel like we’re still together. It’s not helping you. You have to come to terms with our breakup. I know it’s hard for you. But you have to toughen up. Please stop telling people lies. You’re only making things worse for yourself. And I wrote to you the other day to stop sending me letters. Look, I know to you I’m mean, but you have to understand where I’m coming from. Breakups are breakups. Talking to someone after breaking up with them only makes things worse. You have to let go, for your own sake. I can’t stop you from writing me letters, but just know that I may not read them. I’m not going to let you drag me into your mess.

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Hey 24

1

 

Hey,

I’m sorry about your work. Bosses are like that everywhere. I think you should try getting closer to him. Bosses have emotions too, you know. I spoke to my mum. She said she called you. She said she could tell something was going on between us. I didn’t tell her much though. I just told her you were busy with work and couldn’t be around like you used to. But I think she still knows. But whatever. A neighbour asked of you the other day. I just said you had a new job and you had to travel a lot. I never knew people took note of us. Everyone in the building minds their own business. It’s just strange. Why do people get so concerned when things change around them? I think people are scared of change. Could that be why I’m writing to you, because I’m scared of change too, because I’m fighting the thought that we’re no longer together?

 

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Reply to Hey 23

1

 

Hey,

Work is good. Though my boss is a pain in the ass. He’s constantly putting everyone on their toes. Sometimes I imagine I break down at work. I’m definitely sure my blood pressure is on the rise. This job is going to kill me, literally. It’s good that you’re writing again. But I still insist you get a day job to back you up. Your mum called me too. She’s worried about you. She said you’ve refused to pick her calls for days. Please get through to her. Take care.

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Hey 23

1

 

Hey,

I stepped out today. The air was so cool and frigid. I actually loved it. But I love it more from my room. Passersby were smiling. I think they miss me even though they don’t know me. I got some foodstuff from the shop across. The cashier was smiling too. I think they’re sorry for killing Fluffy. Well, I’ve forgiven them. But I don’t think I’d be out much often. I need to finish my book. I’ve been writing. I’m just trying to be more disciplined. And I think it’s working. I make sure that I pen something down every day. Remember the character I told you about, the one that just won’t die? I think he’s eventually going to die. It’s not my fault. I mean, I can’t tell the fate of every character in my book. I just write and let the story tell itself. By the way, how’s work?

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Hey 22

1

 

Hey,

I’m lonely. I miss you. I know that telling you these things will only fuel your pride. But I won’t lie to you. I truly miss you. I miss how we’d play-fight for hours. Then you got the job and everything suddenly froze. I’m alone and lonely. Maybe I’m hexed. Everyone I love leaves me. I still can’t believe Fluffy is gone. I’m thinking of getting a new dog. I think I should get a bulldog this time. They are huge so it’s hard for them to run away. They are stayers, unlike some people I know. Your mum called. She just wanted to check up on me. She’s so sweet. Even my mum doesn’t give a damn. Why can’t you be nice like your mum?

 

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Hey 21

1

 

Hey,

I always sense a feeling that you never truly believed in me, and your last letter proves that. What do you even mean by a real job? Is it because you have a day job you believe the whole world should have a day job like you? It’s always been about you. It’s just impossible for you to see things from a different perspective. And please, I’m not incarcerating myself. I’m an introvert! And if you paid close attention you’d have known that! You always were so skilled at making me sad. I think back and I can’t spot a time you lifted me up. You were always the truth teller, the realist. Thanks for caring. Enjoy your real job.

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Reply to Hey 20

1

 

Hey,

I mean no offence, but you have been on that book ever since I knew you. Look, you have talent, but you have to get yourself a real job. You can’t keep living this way, incarcerating yourself. The other day, I could not even believe that we were once together. You looked like hell. Please get a real job so you can take better care of yourself.

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Hey 20

1

 

Hey,

Thanks for stopping by the other day. I know, I looked like shit. But I’m mourning, you know. Thanks for the foodstuff too. I think it’s going to take a while before I can integrate myself back into normal social life. I feel like everyone out there is another monster waiting to be set loose. I look outside my window and I see fluffy’s murderer in all their faces. The fat ones that don’t like dogs or anything else. The slim ones that pretend to like dogs but fantasize about throwing them into the lagoon. I don’t know who to trust anymore. I’m trying to write about my pain. I’m trying to survive as you said, by channeling my grief to my book. I haven’t written in months. Mum and dad are already tired of supporting me. They won’t tell me but I can tell. But hey, I can finish my book. I know I can.

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Reply to Hey 19

1

 

Hey,

Sorry about Fluffy. I too don’t know why anyone would have done that to her. I know you miss her so much. But you have to survive. You have to get out there and find something to eat. You can’t lock yourself indoors for days. That’s no way to live. I’d try to stop by if I can. I’m not making any promises though. Do take good care of yourself.

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Hey 19

1

 

Hey,

Something bad happened. Something really bad happened. The police found a dead dog in the lagoon. It was Fluffy. Who would have done this to her? Who had any reason to kill an innocent dog? Why are people this mean and wicked? Somebody threw her into the water, I’m sure of it. Some psychopath did this. Gosh! I’m so scared of people right now. There are monsters out there. This is the reason I don’t talk to people because people are evil. Everyone out there is evil. I think I’m going to fall sick. I feel sick. I haven’t left my apartment in days. I don’t want to see their faces. I can’t stand their faces. I miss her. I really miss her.

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Hey 18

1

 

Hey,

A thought occurred to me. You know how they say like charges repel and unlike charges attract. Could it be that our different personalities is why I’m so attracted to you? If not, then why haven’t I stopped writing you these letters? Why haven’t I stopped thinking of you? I sometimes get the feeling that we’re fated to each other. But right now I don’t know how that’s going to work. Maybe love is tricky like that. I expanded my search for Fluffy today. Still no one has seen her. I’m getting really scared now. She’s everything to me. I hope I find her soon.

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Hey 17

1

 

Hey,

As far as I can remember, you were the narcissistic one. For three years you were always right. You were always proving a point. I was the wrong one. I was the crazy one. You? You remembered everything as it happened. You were always spot on. Many times I leaned on you emotionally and instead of picking me up you crushed me. You took joy in crushing me. I was always the weak one. I was always the one that had to grow up. You? You’re all grown up. You’re tough. You’re the toughest. You see depth as weakness. You see sensitivity as imperfection. If growing up means that I grow a stone heart, then I rather remain as I am.

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Hey 16

1

Hey,

Something happened. Fluffy ran away and she hasn’t been sighted for three days now. I don’t know what to do. I’m so confused right now. I have searched around the building for her and there’s no trace. I don’t know where else to look. I put up pictures of her on public walls with my number below. I miss her. I think I’m heartbroken. Twice. What if nobody finds her? What if she’s gone? She was there for me after you left. I miss how she jumps on my bed and licks my face every morning. She was the one I talked to when I was thinking about you. I think she missed you too. Could that be why she ran off, in search for you? Could it be that you broke her heart too?

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Hey 15

1

Hey,

Okay we can’t work. I get that. I’m even getting tired of this. I think I’m tired of thinking about what would have been. I’m tired of waking up memories about us. I guess all things must fade in the end, even love. It’s the pain that is hardest to deal with. Breakup itself doesn’t hurt, but the pain it brings hurts as hell. Did I tell you that I’ve been meditating? Yea, Aunt Rachel gave me the idea. Every day for the past one week I take out fifteen minutes to just breathe in and out. She says it will help me make sense of things. I think it’s working. I think I’m gradually letting go of you, of us.

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Reply to Hey 14

1

Hey,

You’re always sorry. What are you sorry for? You see, that’s your problem, you’re always so sorry. Anything you do is a mistake you must be sorry for. You can blame me for a lot of things all you like, but you can’t blame for your sorry state. And I’ve told you, I’m not interested in talking or writing to you. I called you to tell you to back off. Look, I’ve moved on with my life and I advise you to move on with yours. And there’s no way we’re getting back together, don’t even dream about it. WE JUST CAN’T WORK! Get that into your head.

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Hey 14

1

Hey,

Sorry I missed your call. I’m sorry but I did it on purpose. I just wasn’t ready to talk. I felt like our conversation would have been a mess if we talked. Can we just write to each other, please? I know you don’t even want to have anything to do with me, I know you’ve moved on, but I don’t mind. Anytime you write to me is fine. Look, I’m sorry for being like this. I’m sorry for being emotional, but this is the way I was born, this is the way I’ve always been. Do you think people change? Do you think I can become like you? Would we get back together then? Does my nature piss you off? Is that why you left? Trust me I’m trying to change. I’m trying to be indifferent. But it’s just so hard! I think people can’t really change at their core. I tried to change for you. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.

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Hey 13

1

Hey,

I’m sad. I’m always sad. Mum and dad are worried for me, they think I’m depressed. And they’re right, I am depressed. My inability to socialize effectively is preventing me from knowing people to the level that we were. How do you begin anew? All the time spent calling, all the time spent feeling, the adventures, the risks. I don’t think I can do it all again, I’m just too tired for all that stress. Falling in love is so much work and I don’t think I have that energy right now. Do you ever get the feeling that we should not have broken up? Do you ever get the feeling that we could just make up and let the issues just go away whatever they were? Maybe this difficulty in meeting new people is a sign that we’re still meant to be together. Is it possible for us to get back to where we started?

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Hey 12

1

Hey,

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you angry with my last letter. Please don’t stop reading my letters. I promise I won’t say stuff that’d get you angry, promise. I’m in a confusing spot here, I think I’m having episodes of depression. I’ve been trying to meet new people since we broke up, but I’ve not been lucky. This is part of the reasons why I wanted to hold on to you, to us. I put a lot into what we had, you know, that’s why it’s so painful to see it all end. And a part of me still feels like fighting to get us back together. But another part of me feels it’s the end and you’re beginning to fade day by day. They say it gets better with time, less painful. Do you think that’s true?

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Hey 11

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Hey,

I have a confession to make. Do you know that I never really liked the way you kissed me? There was so much tongue and wetness and so little skin. And I loved skin. Even when I tried to kiss you with lips closed  you opened them back and it was saliva allover again. You never liked new things, always so rigid. There were a lot of things I wanted to show you, lot of ways I wanted to love you, but you were least interested. Hey, do you remember how I used to kiss you all over your body? Well, I can’t lie, I learnt a thing or two from you. Thinking back, I never really think our romantic connection was all that intense, there was always some sort of pull-back from you. You were never really in it a hundred percent, like you were scared of something.