I write you a letter. A letter I will never send you. I give it a title. The story of us. A letter goodbye. But there was never an ‘us’. It’s the ugly truth written down. Purging the hate from my body. It’s taking longer than I expected. Everyday I seem to hate you a little bit more. That’s what overthinking does. It can kill you slowly from the inside out. I’ll keep writing though. No matter how long it takes. The cheapest but most painful form of therapy.