Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Hate letters.
Dear Skyler,
It's me again, I wrote you a few notes but I burned them in the fire place, I tried just talking to you to feel less crazy but I guess talking to a dead girl isn't much better to help yourself not feel crazy.
I often feel like I'm crazy, for numerous reasons.
First because I'm writing letters to a dead girl who was my husband's wife.
Second, because I married a man who doesn't love me and who never will.
Third, because I put my entire life on hold and he doesn't even notice.
I used to be a police officer, that's how we met in case you were wondering, he used to come to the station daily, he'd come in around 10 AM and leave in the afternoon.
He became part of the background in the police station. There was the plants, the desks, the computers and a man of about 30.
Always functional like a clock, arriving in 10 AM and leaving late in the afternoon.
The other policemen didn't took much of an interest in the man always sitting in the same plastic chair, they passed him by on their way down and up the long corridor, and he didn't seem to mind to be passed but he wasn't oblivious either, he always looked them in the eye with sad eyes and determined face as though he wanted to be carved on their memories.
He did in mine, he evoked curiosity in me.
I wanted to know who he was, what's his story, why no one bothered with him and he didn't bother with anyone.
He always saw the captain, always going through the big glass door with a certain air of hope and coming out without it.
Then he sat a while on the chair, staring at the floor, lifting his eyes only to look at the indifferent policemen going about their business.
I couldn't concentrate on my work during these hours of his presence.
You murderer was a big mystery up until 2 years ago, no one knew who killed you. Billy paid a lot of money to lose the evidence, Bribed a few top guns to announce the case to be closed for lack of leads.
It took me and Gerard a lot of time and effort to finally reopen it again, Billy even hired some motherfuckers to scare me off once he realized I'm about to expose him.
I loved my job, I worked in the office but I enjoyed it non the less. That was what my life consisted of, papers and papers and papers.
It amused me how insignificant these papers appeared to the uncaring crowds.
Just another piece of paper, another sheet you can throw away unaware of the facts that are written on them.
Human lives are written on these papers. clue by clue, detail by detail, another person another piece of paper, you can burn or throw away.
The minute the pen tip scarred the face oh the paper, it turned into the the person, it kept their weakness and strength written on it, bore his scars and name. sometimes tears and fears too.
You could destroy the person by destroying the paper, it's easier to take their identity and toss in behind your back, missing by inches the garbage bin.
Did that hurt the human? Did they feel the pain? Of being stripped of their identity and tossed around?
Was it fair?
I devoted my life to keeping these papers clean and organized, I wanted to give then the attention they needed. The attention the people needed but never got.
But keeping Gerard and a job were too much to handle, once we put Billy behind bars Gerard lost some of his determination and spirit (isn't he sexy when he knows what he wants?) and slipped back to being a person without a spine, without a goal, without the will to make something out of his life.
And besides the long sleepless nights and the emotional stress were more then enough for me to handle so I quit my job.
My foster family was happy, they knew who Gerard was, they knew how famous and rich he was so they encouraged me to marry him, enjoy his money and of course 'lend' some to them, they pretty much gave shit if he's making me happy or not, and he was making me happy, at the time.
But anyway, I cut them off, they keep sending threats and letters asking for money but as far as I'm concerned I have no family. It's not as though they were doing such a great job bringing me up.
I met gerard's family and fell in love instantly, Donna has that effect on people, I know you loved her too...
Oh I gotta go, dinner is ready. hopefully he'll speak more then 10 words to me today.
Keep in touch (hahaha thank god you can't),
Kylie Way.
It's me again, I wrote you a few notes but I burned them in the fire place, I tried just talking to you to feel less crazy but I guess talking to a dead girl isn't much better to help yourself not feel crazy.
I often feel like I'm crazy, for numerous reasons.
First because I'm writing letters to a dead girl who was my husband's wife.
Second, because I married a man who doesn't love me and who never will.
Third, because I put my entire life on hold and he doesn't even notice.
I used to be a police officer, that's how we met in case you were wondering, he used to come to the station daily, he'd come in around 10 AM and leave in the afternoon.
He became part of the background in the police station. There was the plants, the desks, the computers and a man of about 30.
Always functional like a clock, arriving in 10 AM and leaving late in the afternoon.
The other policemen didn't took much of an interest in the man always sitting in the same plastic chair, they passed him by on their way down and up the long corridor, and he didn't seem to mind to be passed but he wasn't oblivious either, he always looked them in the eye with sad eyes and determined face as though he wanted to be carved on their memories.
He did in mine, he evoked curiosity in me.
I wanted to know who he was, what's his story, why no one bothered with him and he didn't bother with anyone.
He always saw the captain, always going through the big glass door with a certain air of hope and coming out without it.
Then he sat a while on the chair, staring at the floor, lifting his eyes only to look at the indifferent policemen going about their business.
I couldn't concentrate on my work during these hours of his presence.
You murderer was a big mystery up until 2 years ago, no one knew who killed you. Billy paid a lot of money to lose the evidence, Bribed a few top guns to announce the case to be closed for lack of leads.
It took me and Gerard a lot of time and effort to finally reopen it again, Billy even hired some motherfuckers to scare me off once he realized I'm about to expose him.
I loved my job, I worked in the office but I enjoyed it non the less. That was what my life consisted of, papers and papers and papers.
It amused me how insignificant these papers appeared to the uncaring crowds.
Just another piece of paper, another sheet you can throw away unaware of the facts that are written on them.
Human lives are written on these papers. clue by clue, detail by detail, another person another piece of paper, you can burn or throw away.
The minute the pen tip scarred the face oh the paper, it turned into the the person, it kept their weakness and strength written on it, bore his scars and name. sometimes tears and fears too.
You could destroy the person by destroying the paper, it's easier to take their identity and toss in behind your back, missing by inches the garbage bin.
Did that hurt the human? Did they feel the pain? Of being stripped of their identity and tossed around?
Was it fair?
I devoted my life to keeping these papers clean and organized, I wanted to give then the attention they needed. The attention the people needed but never got.
But keeping Gerard and a job were too much to handle, once we put Billy behind bars Gerard lost some of his determination and spirit (isn't he sexy when he knows what he wants?) and slipped back to being a person without a spine, without a goal, without the will to make something out of his life.
And besides the long sleepless nights and the emotional stress were more then enough for me to handle so I quit my job.
My foster family was happy, they knew who Gerard was, they knew how famous and rich he was so they encouraged me to marry him, enjoy his money and of course 'lend' some to them, they pretty much gave shit if he's making me happy or not, and he was making me happy, at the time.
But anyway, I cut them off, they keep sending threats and letters asking for money but as far as I'm concerned I have no family. It's not as though they were doing such a great job bringing me up.
I met gerard's family and fell in love instantly, Donna has that effect on people, I know you loved her too...
Oh I gotta go, dinner is ready. hopefully he'll speak more then 10 words to me today.
Keep in touch (hahaha thank god you can't),
Kylie Way.
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