Letter I

Dearest,

I must confess, tonight was not like any other nights even when I expect it to. The plan was to pass through it unnoticed. Just another room too full of voices with too empty of meanings. I wandered as I often do, a mere shadow moving through the crowd in a world that spins too loudly for someone odd like me, almost certain to be forgotten even before seen.

Barren of care, desire.

I barely exist.

eternally,