dear (y/n),

you're impossible.

you're an idiot.

you're still transporting letters to me, me who's sitting in a cheap, weird, old as fuck hotel room in bordeaux, even though you know how dangerous it is.

you're taking risks and lead a hazardous life and have hope in me and god, you're the first girl i've ever wanted to live with.

i know this sounds pathetic, but i wish i didn't waste so much time on trying to die when i could've used it with you.