I've already burned the photos you left that night. I decided to tag along all the things you have given me - my favorite necklace, the pink shoes that I usually wear during our dates, and the our leftover cake. I've turned them into pieces, ashes, and nothing. The only things left now are your letters. I couldn't afford to reread them until before I write this. Yes, I am actually writing this for you. This is probably the last thing you'll ever receive from me, and not even a hint of apology. This is the last thing, last letter, that would remind us how things got bitter when we were in them, together. So this is me, finally letting all the hate, hurt, and suffering go. I am finally freeing myself from you. From the words, sentences, and paragraphs. Tonight, they'll be no letters anymore, not even a single from the 26 in the alphabet.