My dear, I know you are hurting.
There are places inside all of us we avoid going. Deep dark depths of despair and sharp ledges and edges. I know, I know.
Every night the ghosts spring up on us, catch us unaware, shake our bones, and remind us of our empty spaces.
We write in embarrassing clichés. Words escape our feelings. We write what we wrote the day before, fooling ourselves with different letters, different fonts, each time attempting to drive closer to the point (if there is even a point), yet failing exactly to strike the hammer down on the nail.
Every night it gets harder to be on guard, to breathe, under the pressure, the weight, of sheer and utter fear, harder to live.
You take one step forward, two steps back.
I want to tell you what I should have done, but never did: Leap.
Leap. I will catch you, if you fall. Your dreams will find a way, to float back to you, enter into your life, day to day, scene to scene. Little pleasures. Little miracles. Someone will love you, as you are. The colours will come back again. The walls will break apart. Everything will be okay.