Dear reader,
I write this to you because I have no one else to write to. You are a beautiful person, taking the time out of your life to reach out and hear the words of a lost human being.
The existence that we share is a cruel one indeed, and it is a gift beyond measure to have someone by our side to share the burden. Some may have friends, some may have lovers, some may have family; and many take them for granted. Wealth, health, triumph, tragedy- these are all made void without the voice of knowing; a connection to the world on which we all bound to. You and I have had a great many tragedies, fears, inadequacies, and failures to experience. We all do. It is our own existence that creates romance, therefore creating the drama that follows. It is here, I ask, that you remember your connections with others that make that experience possible.
I am a person with no contact. My mental faculties have been quite detached from those around me, as is made quite apparent from the oddities of written mannerism in this letter. My family is small and greatly prefers to be away from my contact, and news of tragedy. My acquaintances are quite bemused of my worldviews, and my presence evokes an aura of antipathy from strangers and those who were my friends. I have no lover- I believe romance to be a fictitious thing conjured from the whimsy of poets and daydreamers. Thus, never has anyone approved of my being, and I suspect no one ever will.
No man is an island.
No one can survive alone.