Dear Old Friend,
I’m feeling hopeless again.
It’s impossible how bad I am at CS:GO. Like I’m worse than bots…
Third time writing you a letter, getting darker. I’m getting worse and worse.
I had a reason for the writing, but trying to exorcise my demons didn’t work.
To try to rid me of the worry and to purge you out of wonder for the future and the hurt.
I wrote a poem:
I’m increasingly aware I’ve been painting things in gray,
I’m increasingly alarmed by the pain,
I’m increasingly alive to every cloud up in the sky,
I’m increasingly afraid it’s going to rain.