To My White Butterfly,
I have nothing to say this morning. This is the last letter to you. I am not enough, and I can never be enough for you. But I am enough for myself, and I am enough on my own. Being okay with being alone is the only option I have now, because I am tired of trying to fit into people’s lives. I am tired of trying too hard to be beloved. I have witnessed love in people’s eyes just for the sheer existence of the beloved. My existence is not beautiful enough to be witnessed with love, you made me realize that.
After two days of continuous work with very little sleep, coding all night for drop.imago.chat, I realized I am very good at working nonstop to distract myself from the fact that I am human. My successful projects will help immortalize my ideas, but I don’t care about that. I just wanted someone to understand me emotionally when I needed them to.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but not being able to have love makes me feel like the poorest of the poor. I am hungry, and I want to sleep now.
Goodbye, the last hope of you.
With love,
Mehboob.