I cannot remember the last time I wrote to you, it must've been ages since our last correspondence. Forgive me for having done so, believe me when I say that it has always been a great priority of mine to write at the earliest convenience, but still, I chose to refrain from writing anything that has nothing of substance and form for I know better than be a nuisance on your part.
Once, I tried to write something that might be of significance to you, but scarcely had I lift my stylus above this creamy sheet of paper, that my mind, over some unfathomable panic and anxiety, had censored every noteworthy thought to occur --- thoughts that are dignified enough to write unto you.
If you would dare ask why must this be so, I can only tell you that I've not the faintest clue what has become of me. I can only hope to say that perhaps this is one of the many aftereffects that my nauseating fits of melancholy could produce apart from a debilitating sense of dejection. Frankly, I've not felt so intense an exultation in a long while now save for a few occasions that I ought to feign in front of a scrutinizing crowd. This had since atrophied at a staggering pace that at a moment's notice, every other form of sweet delicacies that were supposed to uplift my spirit are now nothing but a stale mold of cacao mixed with butter, wrapped around an outlandishly designed plastic container. Not even my moments of pondering are exempted from this sickness assaulting my senses, for, at every turn, my sophisticated cynicism has quite sharpened its claws that I can no longer discriminate any act of kindness as genuine other than no more than an act of will to power over one's fellow. It is a great burden of mine, indeed.
But thus as it is, I implore you still to withhold from making value judgments and or take pity on this complicated predicament of mine, for it is in no way beneficial to my finding a resolve befitting to this ordeal. Be very cautious of harboring a modicum of pity, it is never likely commensurate to genuine altruism. You would do well than bid me well wishes upon this harrowing time of my journey.
On a lighter note, today marks my 21st birthday, and to be frank, I've not any inkling of what to do with myself ---- Indeed, I am none the wiser than I already am.
In this period of great silence and lethargy, I've not forgotten about you. For now, that is all that I have worth saying.
All the best I wish to you.
Truly, K.
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