An open letter to my abuser
It's just a phase, I say, lying to myself, taking another drag of the cigarette I've been holding. The nicotine buzz hits me, and I realize I'm no longer the same person. Would Dipta , a few years ago, even think of this as the right thing to do? Perhaps time really changes people; it changed me for the good and the bad. As time faded, the obligations on my shoulders have gotten heavier, and so has this unfulfilling void that always makes me feel empty. I dumped the ashes in an ashtray and sipped on my coffee. The longer I stared into the smoke that passed out the window, the more I got in-depth with my emotions. Have I always felt this way? Have I always been an empty shell of a skeleton with nothing but the emotions that people around me fill up? Who am I, to begin with? Why am I here, and when will this stop? Perhaps answering all these questions requires me to strip naked in front of the mirror and point out things that I see as flaws in me since August 8 . It'