A/N: Hey hi how ya doing please don't kill me xD Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it's been a while since I've uploaded – and, to all of those who have read my other stories, I am going to finish TSWP… I have just had this story stuck in my head for SO LONG now… I had to write it xD Anyway… I hope you all enjoy :333

Disclaimer: Siiiiiigh, tis not mine.

April 13, 2017

Dear Charlie,

My world is upside down. Day becomes night, and night becomes day. My dreams haunt me as I pound the sidewalk. Reds, yellows, and oranges explode in my head. She haunts my dreams and twists my heart. Her laugh rattles in my head and my legs quake in anguish. She has her hands wrapped around my sole existence, twisting and crushing it, even though she is gone. I am a ghost of my old self, a shell that seems like it shall never be filled again. I wake up every morning from a fitful sleep with tears dried on my face.

Yet I allow myself to do these things.

I allow myself to think about her.

I allow myself to still feel for her.

I allow myself to still love her.

"Here's where I stand," I shouted. "This is my soul. Look at it. Study it. Do whatever you wish to it."

And the world responded.

The galaxies seemed to turn to dust and sprinkle over the two of us. Our love was too much for the universe to handle. It was pure, and it was right.

But then I fucked up. I fucked up bad.

My demons rattle in my head, shouting to be heard. "Listen to us! We are here! We are your fears, your nightmares, and your worries! We are here to ruin you! We are you! Pay attention to us!"

I can't make them stop.

It's because I won't let her stop.

She's still here, though she is gone. Her smile blinds me and keeps me up at night. Her lips touch mine making me crave the taste of her. Her laugh clutches my heart and twists and crushes with each soft melody. Her love fills my soul and makes it warm. It promises happiness, joy, merriment, and love.

But then it's gone the very next moment, leaving a cold, empty space.

She is me. And with her gone, so am I.

She causes me so much pain, I hate her.

I hate what she's made me.

I hate what she made me feel.

I hate the promises she made me make.

I hate how she made me break them.

I hate how I hate her.

I hate how I hurt her.

I hate how I lost her.

I hate…

I'm so tired of hate. I'm tired of emotions. Christ, I don't want to be like this anymore.

But there's no hope, Charlie. Can't you see? I fucked this up. It's entirely my fault.

I just don't know what to do.

Sam thinks I need to move on. Santana agrees. But… I can't. I just… can't. I would like to – no one enjoys being in pain. But I just can't. I think Brittany understands.

I like to think that… She… Still feels the same way about me. She has to. What we had was one in a million. It was what poets strive to put into words; what painters slave over canvases to convey in a spectrum of colors; what singer and song writers search all over the world for – through every notch in the pavement to every mark in the sky. We danced on the moon as the galaxies cried over us, sprinkling us with that damn star dust. We had it. We… had… it…

Kurt came in to work the other day. Initially, he looked pissed at me, which is completely understandable. I'd be pissed at myself. Well… I am. Either way, he pities me now. I hate it. I don't want his pity. He should stay pissed at me. All I receive now is pity. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth when I think that people feel sorry for me when I was the one who caused this.

Anyway, after commenting on how I look—"one of those hideous zombie things you and Sam enjoy watching"—he told me the real reason why he showed up unannounced (after I rolled my eyes and yelled at him. I should apologize for that… It's not Kurt's fault after all… But he should know not to mess with me when I'm moody).

Her party is in a week this Saturday. He said I need to have everything to be fixed by then, or else I'm going to regret it. I was going to remark with a snarky comment about how I could easily take him, but he stormed out in true diva fashion.

But thinking back on the encounter, I'm pretty sure the whole 'regret it' thing wasn't about him rearranging my looks.

I have twelve days to fix this.

Twelve.

Days.

I carry around a storm on my shoulders, but I have to fix this.

I need to.

But where the hell do I start? There is too much pain to try to soothe all at once. Too many things left unsaid. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like to believe that I am an intellectual being—one with passion and wit. I can fix a leaky sink and replace a flat tire. I can intimidate others with a raise of a brow and open my own gallery. I can conquer the world and be whoever I want. But this is out of my realm.

I guess I should start by… Getting a drink. Or two. Yeah. It sounds like a plan, Stan.

I'll get to the hard stuff tomorrow.

But tonight, I drown my demons.

Yours eternally screwed,

QF