Dear Daughter,
I am writing this letter not to beg for help, but to refuse it. As you may know, my life is marred with many troubles, and I am quite sorry for laying all my burdens unto you. My life has tainted yours, and for the most part I fear you won't move past it and into reality.
To the point, however, you know that I do not write unless it be of utmost emergency. My emergency is for you, and I wish dearly that I do not have to fear enough for you to attempt to dissuade you. You are my daughter, and I know you would protect me, even with your hands behind your back to unloose shackles. So this I say that I would rather die than see you dead. Because I fear that you resent me enough to try this out of spite, I have not enclosed the address at which my execution will take place.
But more about you. It has come to my attention that you have been facing emotional dilemmas. To leave your love to the Antarctic cold is one thing, but to regret it is another entirely. Don't tell me you didn't love him, I have my ways of knowing, my daughter. I would beg of you to take him back, but in truth, this is the beginning of an age that you put your feelings behind the purposes and not in front. Lord knows it took a while, but you are finally seeing the clear line from A to B. All your years with me and Irene, and now you choose to follow your head and not your heart. Of course, what is a heart but irrational? The heart is what killed Romeo and Juliet, you know. No, I suppose it was not the heart. It was passion, the faithful servant of the heart.
So give up on passion, and your heart will turn to stone. Stone does not feel.
Do you remember when I would sit in your room with you and read Shakespeare out loud? You would wonder why I cried whenever I read Romeo and Juliet. You were too young to understand back then. Now, I suggest you read it, and think of me. Your questions shall be answered, and hopefully you will follow the same path I did.
Another reason I write is to tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry for betraying you, sorry for tainting your life. Tell your brother I'm sorry to him too. I could spend forever writing about how I am sorry, but after the third line you will have thrown this letter away anyway. So I'll be brief: I am sorry for everything.
Do not come after me, do not even try. Just remember that I did love you, and that I'm eternally sorry. I'll be sorry when I burn in Hell, I'll be sorry for the rest of my natural existence. If you chance to stray by Hell on your ascent to heaven, send me a kind word. I'll be waiting.
Tonight I 'm reading Romeo and Juliet and I cannot cry.
With Love,
Raven
I am writing this letter not to beg for help, but to refuse it. As you may know, my life is marred with many troubles, and I am quite sorry for laying all my burdens unto you. My life has tainted yours, and for the most part I fear you won't move past it and into reality.
To the point, however, you know that I do not write unless it be of utmost emergency. My emergency is for you, and I wish dearly that I do not have to fear enough for you to attempt to dissuade you. You are my daughter, and I know you would protect me, even with your hands behind your back to unloose shackles. So this I say that I would rather die than see you dead. Because I fear that you resent me enough to try this out of spite, I have not enclosed the address at which my execution will take place.
But more about you. It has come to my attention that you have been facing emotional dilemmas. To leave your love to the Antarctic cold is one thing, but to regret it is another entirely. Don't tell me you didn't love him, I have my ways of knowing, my daughter. I would beg of you to take him back, but in truth, this is the beginning of an age that you put your feelings behind the purposes and not in front. Lord knows it took a while, but you are finally seeing the clear line from A to B. All your years with me and Irene, and now you choose to follow your head and not your heart. Of course, what is a heart but irrational? The heart is what killed Romeo and Juliet, you know. No, I suppose it was not the heart. It was passion, the faithful servant of the heart.
So give up on passion, and your heart will turn to stone. Stone does not feel.
Do you remember when I would sit in your room with you and read Shakespeare out loud? You would wonder why I cried whenever I read Romeo and Juliet. You were too young to understand back then. Now, I suggest you read it, and think of me. Your questions shall be answered, and hopefully you will follow the same path I did.
Another reason I write is to tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry for betraying you, sorry for tainting your life. Tell your brother I'm sorry to him too. I could spend forever writing about how I am sorry, but after the third line you will have thrown this letter away anyway. So I'll be brief: I am sorry for everything.
Do not come after me, do not even try. Just remember that I did love you, and that I'm eternally sorry. I'll be sorry when I burn in Hell, I'll be sorry for the rest of my natural existence. If you chance to stray by Hell on your ascent to heaven, send me a kind word. I'll be waiting.
Tonight I 'm reading Romeo and Juliet and I cannot cry.
With Love,
Raven