Black Thorns: Chapter 10

Dear Yuki-Onna,

It’s me again. Your one and only.

Your true friend who doesn’t hesitate to call you out on your bullshit because no one else in your life does.

The only person who can actually see through your tough act and miserable life and enables you to smile even when everything crashes and burns around you.

Oh, and your pen pal. You know, someone you actually write letters to?

I didn’t receive a reply to my last two letters, in case you haven’t noticed, and I’m waiting in case you forgot—and no, you don’t get to ignore me.

You should’ve done that the first time I wrote to you. Now it’s a done deal and there’s no damn turning back.

I told you I would keep writing to you even if you don’t. I told you that my letters will show up at your door even if you hate them.

Is this punishment? Are you rebelling against me because of what I said in the last two letters? It’s useless, though. It’s not like I can magically get over the toxicity and live my life happily ever after in the city of unicorns and rainbows.

Besides, since when are you such a fragile snowflake who takes everything to heart? Did you develop other nasty habits I’m not aware of? Or maybe you’re just being a bitch at this point and living up to the image you painted in my head.

Either way, fuck you very much, Naomi. This isn’t how you’re supposed to end a toxic relationship. We should talk about it, as toxically as possible, and without sugarcoating.

I thought we were special. As fucked up as that sounds, special relationships don’t end just like that.

Special relationships don’t end, period.

So how about you pick up your pen and write me back?

It can be as simple as threatening to kill me in the form of Yuki-Onna. Or maybe you can tell me how much you hate me in the best way possible.

Whatever it is, write. You know you want to, even if you somehow followed a spiritual journey and had a million therapists tell you to end your ties with me.

They’re lying. It’s impossible. This will never end.

Print out those words and hang them in your room, then look at them when you think of me and write me a letter.

I’m waiting.

I’ll try to be nice in my reply, although I make no promises.

It’ll depend on my mood, I guess.

DON’T FUCKING GHOST ME.

Akira