Dear Brice,
I'm feeling shockingly inspired tonight. Mostly because of the heartbreak that I've caused myself, the late nights spent together, and sad songs that have deeper meaning than the surface of the repetitive chorus. I would love to write songs but my voice shakes and my fingers tend to fumble at strings and musical notes. I admire people who can get on a stage and scream their lives in a microphone and fit it all in a 3 and a half minute song. If I wrote a song about my life, it'd take me longer to sing it than to write. It would be complicated but have simple melodies. No one would be able to relate or even remember the lyrics. No one would listen or buy it on iTunes. It would be a sad attempt at attention and relation. I'd sing in empty bars and my voice would echo off dull walls. I wouldn't have to have a microphone because the crowd was so loud. I wouldn't need to go along the edge of the stage a touch the hands of all of my screaming and desiring fans. Nor would I have anyone backstage urging me on. My voice would lack complexion and feeling, but my life was so, so different. My hands would tremble and I'd think to myself, why? Why are these musical notes absent of the joys of life? But then I'd remember that I had no joys. I had no moments that I'd love to remember. All were filled with despair and aching. I'd walk off the stage while my heart broke for millionth time, but for once, it wouldn't be because of you. I'd love to say this letter had some type of meaning towards it, but it doesn't. It's just one more letter I'll never send
Completely unwanted,
Your ex-lover