Dearest Zappa,

I miss being able to come home to you and forget all about me. All about my stupid dark and twisty. I miss that.

Because this dark and twisty is tiring. I can't trust men. I dream terrible things when I do sleep. Sometimes, I can't sleep at all. Sometimes, I can't stop sleeping.

I keep thinking that this new job will help me be busy. Help me be normal. But if it doesn't help. If I still remain all messed up on the inside, what am I going to do?

I'm so exhausted.

And this has nothing to do with you. I mean ofcourse the end of Friti is sad and all that. But this is not about that at all. This is something else entirely. This is all me.

I want to die. I'm not suicidal. I know how selfish suicide is, and well, I'm not suicidal. Besides, Ive to rid my cupboard of all the love letters and tequilla bottles before I pop it. And there's too much to clean. :) Yes, I have received many many love letters.

I just miss having a safe place.

I hope you've found one. We all know your demons make mine look like cartoon cutouts.

Love Always,

me