Dear you (plural)

Dear you,
I would tell you, I swear I would, if my problems didn't feel so insignificant compared to what you deal with on a daily basis. One of my greatest communication fears is that I will be told my problems are as small and petty as I tell myself they are. Of course, the other of my greatest fears is that I will be told the opposite, because then I would have to accept that there is legitimately something wrong.


Dear you,
I know you have a lot going on right now, and I know you definitely don't think of me anywhere near as much as I think about you, but I just want to see you some time. I just want to hang out with you. I have dreams about looking at you and smiling. Just smiling. That's all I want. Just to smile at you and flirt with you and laugh at your inane awesomeness. You gave me hope, you know, and even if all my instincts tell me to stay back, because you don't want me, because you deserve so much better, because I just screw everything up... I just want to see you. Bump into me in the street, eh?

Dear you,
I'm sorry I never pick up the phone when you call, but honestly, I look at it ringing and I just don't have the energy. All my conversations with you feel like lies, because I don't trust you enough to tell you how I'm really feeling. There's so much about me that you don't understand. And I don't see that changing. You brought me into this world but we've been growing apart ever since.

Dear you,
I really hope you don't think you've done something wrong. You haven't. The gaps between our conversations get longer and longer. I just... can't. All I see when I think of you is how much I have screwed you over. All the pain I've caused you. All the secrets I've kept, all the truths I've told. Everything. You, who I loved more than anything. I hope you don't miss me. I hope you don't feel like you need me, because you don't. I am a dagger in your back. I am a weight around your neck. You may have forgiven me, you may even think there's nothing to forgive, but I know better. I know the extent of my guilt, and I will never, ever forgive myself. I know I'm hurting you even more with every day I don't talk to you, but I just can't. Everything I do makes everything worse.

Dear you,
You're a great friend and I love you a lot, but sometimes the gap between us just seems so large. I mean, how can you not know the difference between a clitoris and a cervix?

Dear you,
I wonder if you hear me through the walls sometimes. I hear you playing the flute. Do you ever hear me crying? I hope not. I already feel too much of an inconvenience in my own house.

Dear you,
Help. I'm not fine. It hurts. Again. Talk to me?