ligger erp drama shit

Letter to Ivory

Ivory, can I ask you something important? Something that's... hard for me to ask. It was something that I wanted to ask when we had our most recent talk, but... I nevercould ask it.


When will I feel safe in your arms, again, Ivory?

...It probably sounds like a lot more bullshit, coming from me. That I have had yet another probelm that you will have to deal with. It's not. In fact, I can't even remember the last time you actually ever... helped me, with a problem. Every time I tried to sit you down and talk, something always occurred, and the times where it didn't?

...I remember how, when I wanted to talk to you about many things, about my concerns, about my problems, you stayed for a while. It was a peaceful day, we met in "The Usual Spot", I talked, you talked, there wasn't much going on around the station... and when I was finally gathering the courage to confront things, you left. You stood up, and you left, saying that there was something to be taken care of. There wasn't. I asked around Sec later that shift, there wasn't much of anything going on. You did this, you got up and left, while you wore your glasses, too. I... I believe that you might've thought that "it wasn't going anywhere" and as such, it wasn't worth your time.

...I believe I'm not worth your time. Ever. I haven't, for months. I... Ivory, here's how bad it's gotten. Prior to when I went to your home, and where we... prior to that, I couldn't remember the last time we ever... we ever did anything. I couldn't remember the last time you ever held me in your arms, like that. I couldn't- no, I... I still can't remember...

I can't remember the last time you looked me in the eyes and told me you loved me. Not even after the last visit I had, where we snuggled in bed, both tired after what we did, did you ever tell me that you loved me.

...Perhaps I'm selfish- no, I know I am. I've lied to myself, for months, about our relationship. I've lied to you, as well. I kept believing that we had something for you, when in reality, I haven't for a long, long time. I sent you messages, constantly, I visited you without end, and I kept doing so even when I should be doing my work. The reason why? To make myself believe that I still loved you.

...You've torn out my heart far too many times. When you were a revolutionary, when you were a traitor, when you wouldn't let me help you and told me to stay back, when you fell in love with my sister and ended up treating her better than you had me in months... I remember the day where you hated me, and I couldn't figure out why, I remember how I tried, and tried, to apologize, only to get arrested and beaten by a racist that day. I remember how, and when, I found out you had... relations with Hugs while you dated me. I remember... most everything we've ever done, honestly.

Yet... even then... I can't remember the last time you ever did anything truly special for me.

I... I've wanted to do things, with you, for a while. Even if it may have been during an obsessive phase, it was still there. Candlelit dinners, the day you took me to your home, the days where, we sat with one another and just... talked. ....I gave you my heart, and most everything I could. I... I had given you my first performance, and something, truly, I thought you'd appreciate. Not even a single "Thank you". I... Do you know what I just found out, that you never told me? My sister got married, and you had pictures. When was I going to find out about that? Was I ever going to find out about that? Or were you just going to continue giving me Winter Coats that, frankly, I could care less for, considering the first one was the only one I ever, truly cared about. You never even asked me- not once, why I wore them, or why I still kept the old, gray, battered down one you see me wear. Getting the same thing over and over again loses its meaning... sometimes, I think it's simple routine that you give them to me.

...And even through all of this, you still decide to be a traitor. You still decide to work for the syndicate, and you still... I... I thought you were going to be the one to help me get away from all of that, to not be a criminal anymore. Yet you became one yourself... and you became violent as well. Not to me, never to me, but when I first met you... I thought you were one of the most caring individuals I had ever met. I thought you were going to be the one to help me out of this... but then you changed into something that, frankly, I'm not even sure I recognize anymore.

...What are we, anymore? What am I, anymore? I'm not the man I once was, just a shell of his former self. I used to be calm, confident, worthwhile as a person... now, I'm broken. Do you even still care for me, as me? Or did you care for the me I became? ...I don't even know anymore.

If... if there was one thing I did know? It was that I... I can't bring myself to visit you, anymore. Not now, not for a long time, but maybe, just maybe... maybe I can get over all of this, maybe I can get over the fact that I've lied to myself, that I became desperate, that I lied to you about how I felt, about what I felt, about my current situations. I've been drinking, heavily. That is why I stayed in debt, that is why I still am in debt. I never actually got back in to debt until I... until...

Do you remember the box I gave you? That's not what I wanted you to have. What I wanted to give you... changed. I realize you still empathize, and I realize you still care about me, about the family, but... I just can't believe it. I couldn't believe it then, either.

...I left my original gift for you in the library. On the shelves. It's a journal, one that I've been making since the very first day I arrived at this station. In the back of it... I left something special, the true gift, I wanted to give you. I won't be needing it anymore, not after I've realized that I... I've become broken as a man. That I'm not me, I'm not the Gambler, I'm not Spears-And-Serves, that I'm simply just... broken. I feel nothing. Not just due to you, though that may be what this letter implies, but due to... a large amount of things if I'm entirely honest.

This station is poison. I can't bare to stay here much longer- if at all any longer. That... and I need to find another job.

...I'm a drama king. Keep the drama on the stage, not off of it, but I can't even manage that, right. I can tell you... I can tell you right now, that I won't be seeing you for a long, long time. That, if I do, I'm not sure you should even love me anymore considering how terrible of a lover I've been, lying to you constantly without giving you a single truth for solid months. That I'm telling you all of this through a letter as opposed to in person because I don't wish to have to go through what I would have to should I tell it to you then.

I'm not worth your time, that is my belief. Even if I were, I'm not in the right state of mind to even ensure that it would remain that way. I'm... gone, Ivory.

The book is on the shelf, go there.