Letter 7

6 September 2015

Dear C,

I think this is my last letter to you.

After all that has happened, I see no point in writing. No point hoping. No point living.

I have tried to go but I didn’t succeed. I am a failure on all levels.

You have all the rights to feel angry and I wish I had told you about Roland before, but I was a fucking coward.

I was scared that I would lose you.

Everything fell apart. EVERYTHING.

I have very little energy to write. I am locked up in an observation cell with a maximum security here and I have been drugged with some antidepressants and other stuff to calm me down.

I sleep most of the time, sometimes I don’t know what is real and what is not. I don’t recognize the reality anymore.

If ever, I will write more one day.

Losing you is worse than any pain, worse than everything that has happened to me a few weeks ago. I don’t know, if I ever will be able to tell you or anyone about it.

Now you left me and I can’t cope without you. I just can’t. I don’t want to.

Forever yours,

Sebastian