The Good That Won't Come Out, by Vye Riosaki

Dear Friend,

I don't know you. I don't want to. You might be like them, just going with the rapids and ripping out the rocks. You might drown me. Drown me with your indifference and your sympathetic looks. With your pity.

Despite feeling this way, I need to talk to someone. I can't take this silence, or the gravity of the situation, by myself. I don't want to be Isaac Newton and have an apple fall on my head. I don't want something to make me realize, truly realize, that there is something wrong with me. Something that made me do what I did. Something that won't come out.

Either way, you're the only one to show me some empathy, pity. You are like me. Only... more quiet and reserved than I am. You are what I aspire to be. But, that doesn't change the fact that I don't like you. You know I'm hurting, but you don't do anything. By inaction, you are just like me. You know how I feel.

And that's one of the many reasons why I wanted to write this letter. You know what it feels like to... Think those thoughts. To know the curiosity of... numbness in terms of sleep. To wonder what's on the otherside. You wrote that poem a while back. The one with that cheep ass ending... Still, the imagery and the emotions you were feeling definitely stood out to me. You, my... friend... are similar to me.

As I'm sitting here, outside on a park bench, I'm slowing down from inertia. Decelerating and sorta thinking about my situation. About these people accelerating past me. Thinking they'd never stop. Thinking nothing would get in their way. But inertia would grab them if that happens. If not, another opposing force will slam them backwards. Hurt them. Let them fly.

The lover, the joker, the cryer, the hoper, the hater, the loner... All of these people, yes, all of them, would cease to exist. The person in either of those 'social roles' would change into another skin to live in. When I think of it like this... The world all of a sudden seems small. Too small. It's amazing that Earth isnot falling from all the weight.

However, I'm not writing this to enlighten you, nor give you any sort of indication that I... adore you. Rather, I just want to write something that you can think about. Write because you care. Because you listen. You listen, unlike the others. They don't want to change, to transform. You, however, aren't scared to voice your fears and your thoughts. Even if doing so would be the cost of getting hurt.

Me? Well, I want change, but I'm too damn tired and I refuse to fix my problems. I feel too much. I feel too much love, too much hate... I couldn't control these feelings once I met you, though. We never spoke. We never looked at each too much. But there was something there. We felt... at ease, each time we saw each other. You even prevented your friends from hurting me too bad. That alone shows you have the strength to face your fears. If not, well, that was a start; you need to learn how to face them once I'm gone. I'm giving up on this town, but not on you.

Why do I care to tell you about how I feel about you? Why I want to tell you all this? Well... I do care about you. I just didn't want to tell you how I felt. How I wanted you. But I thought to myself that you probably were involved with someone. And that was true. Painfully true. Writing this is cathartic in a sense. I can talk to you, even if you don't reply to this. It makes me know I can live now.

In short, I am glad you softened my fall. You muffled the screams and cries. You made the bright light dimmer. I was part of that river, accelerating to the confusing ocean. I was ripping out rocks, dragging along soil. Once I saw you, once you stopped them from hitting me... 

You were my gravity. You may have weighed me down with your indifference, but helped slowed me down, made me start realizing we can live. You were that one opposing force, the one that knocked sense into me.

I... admire you.

For your strength to move on, even if you have little to none left in you. For your smarts to decide to recognize your... ailment... to get better... Really, you taught me a whole lotta stuff. For that, I thank you. And I hope that the others would try stop you from being You. 

Word of advice: the You I'm speaking of is not what others think of you, or what you think of yourself. Rather, the You I'm talking of is the You who can evaluate what your feeling and feel what you want to feel. It's like you can select what your feeling, only, it's easier said than done. You are special. If someone tells you otherwise, at least know you're special to me.

With this in mind, I guess it's pretty obvious that I'm scared. Of being rejected by you... Of giving up... Really, I'm only leaving this town because I need a fresh start. I hope you understand what the hell I'm talking about, because I don't either.

...

Please, though. Promise me this. You'll realize when to accelerate, when to let inertia do what it does, know that you can find something to bounce off of if you believe you're lost. Most and above all, know you do take up space. Space people may or may not enjoy, but you are there. You have mass. Mass people might like or love hugging. Mass that others could adore.

You take up space.

You have mass.

If you doubt yourself, please know you matter. You definitely matter to people.

Sincelery,

You're Long Gone Friend