I mean let’s get this straight.
These four pegs of whiskey are too blunt for my taste.
I need something stronger.
You say you got my letters six days back.
But I’ve never been writing them.
It’s been a month.
I’m trying to block your memories off my mind.
I mean I’m not some Freud or something.
But I know that won’t work.
Fucking lost my mind over some shitty word like love.
I mean who the fuck puts down four letters together and tells the entire humanity to justify an entirely limitless emotion inside it.
A feeling that knows no bound.
So, come back to the point.
Who’s writing those letters?
Do you have another joint?
I need something stronger tonight.
Do you imagine things lately?
Did those letters seem like mine?
You undoubtedly know my handwriting, don’t you?
Funny, is there nothing you don’t know about me.
How are you going to remember those anyway?
Your mind will block me out. Eventually.
I guess you imagine me sending you letters.
You want me to write them.
You couldn’t move on, could you?
I am not even thinking of going back. I’ve moved on.
Yes, I’m drinking a lot lately, but how does that bother anyone?
Pass me that Hukka!
So, let me tell you, yes, I’ve been writing a lot. 
I’ve written you letters. For days now. And I’ve posted them too. Because I wanted you to read……Fuck, did I not move on?


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