When she mailed the package that morning, she smiled thinking of the letter that was lying just underneath the first flap. When it was opened, she would read everything, and hopefully it would make a difference. Finally.
Dear Mrs. Weedgrass,
I do not know you. We may not have ever truly met in the way we could have. Having learned all about you and feeling the devastating effects of your existence on the planet, I feel it necessary to express what you inevitably must know in your cold, bitter heart.
I will put it quite simply and quite plainly so that you do not misunderstand nor have to muddle through my rhetoric.
Your bitter disappointments and hatreds, your self-loathing, and ultimately, your manic discontent and sociopathology has affected many and most definitely have created a small sphere devoid of love or ability to heal.
Find it in yourself to love. Do it openly and without shame. Apologize. Give hugs and bring warmth where it is needed so desperately. You have very little time left on this earth in which to do it.
I know this.
Don't ask me how.
I do.
And should I ever meet you on the street, so help me, you will be the one person I make pay for it though it has never been my place.
So make sure you don't know me and make sure you never meet me.
It is best this way.
Mend it. For your sake. And for the sake of those closest to you whom you have wounded so horribly.
Sincerely,
Me.
1 comment:
Oooooooooooooooooooooo
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