(finaldraftREALtrashversion.txt)

openletterdraft13: i wasn’t supposed to feel this much
// open file: confession.txt
// modified: too many times

i loved you [ ]
  and by loved i mean studied.
  and by studied i mean starved.
  and by starved i mean
  i said “i’m not hungry” with your name in my throat.

INSERT IMAGE:
  a girl in a bookstore touching the spines
  like maybe one of them will understand.

INSERT IMAGE:
  a girl standing in the moonlight,
  asking the low-flying planes if she’s forgivable.

EXPORT FEELING:
  named it something soft
  so no one would notice it burned.

he said “i don’t want to hurt you”
  which is what men say
  right before they hurt you
  with clean hands.

CTRL + ALT + DELETE
  but nothing closes—
  especially not the part
  that keeps writing poems in his grammar.

[SYSTEM ERROR: too many metaphors. Simplify?]

i called it love.  
he called it bad timing.

INSERT PASSWORD:
  seeme

ACCESS GRANTED.

NEW NOTE:
  i forgive you in lowercase.
  you don’t deserve the shift key.

open file: ruinmefinaldraft.txt  
last saved: 2:41am  
user: girlwhoknowsbetter  
status: still writing about him / (pathetic)  
attachment: none (maybe that’s the point)

INPUT: I’m fine  
OUTPUT: [you don't sound like it]

cpu temp: 100.4°F  
(she's burning again)

I bit my nails and tasted April.

biometrics: unstable  
heartbeat: typing...  
eyes: exit-wound wide, still scanning  
mouth: unsent, but spelling it with teeth  
spine: error 504  

/ BIOS update failed  
// scroll depth: dangerous  
// dopamine loop: infinite

poetry drafts: full  
dignity: low  
engagement: medium

attachments:
- crying.wav  
- voice04833.m4a (unsent)  
- screenshotwhiplash02.png  
- idontbelieveyoudraftfinalFINAL.txt

NEW GOOGLE DOC:  
  title: every version of me you didn’t love  
  sharing permissions: view only  
  editing access: revoked

collaborators:
- me (12am), me (3am), me pretending I don’t care  
- girlboss, gaslight, ghost  
- nobody asked, everyone noticed, Taylor Swift  

[CORRUPTED TEXT]  
  she said she was over it [DATA INCOMPLETE]  

attachment: none (unless you count the damage)

[404: identity not found]

everyone says i look good  
no one asks if i’m still here  
the scale goes down  
the poems get louder  
the body forgets how to stay

[repetition detected: again, again, again, again]

click to translate: desperation

plaintext:
  you’re not even that important  
  but i keep talking like you’re holy  
  what do you do with love  
  when no one wants to hold it?

click here to reveal what she meant (no one ever did)

>>> meanwhile: her stomach hurts for no reason again.

reminder: no one asked.

crash log: 3:14am, again

system flag:
  are you sure you want to feel this much?  
  [no] [too late]

[user breakdown detected]  
  INSERT MESSAGE: “i’m sorry for my part.”  
  STATUS: unacknowledged  
  TIMESTAMP: one year ago  
  attachment: olive_branch.png  

recovery mode engaged (no progress)

autosave: corrupted  
exported: only the parts that hurt

I googled "am I spiraling"  
and then took the quiz twice.

cloud access: denied  
  her incision itched—  
  but not as much as the silence.  
  the body healed.  
  the meaning didn’t.

when she stands up too fast and sees stars,  
she names them after him.

draft saved: yes  
sent: no  
read: no  
felt: yes  
ruined: absolutely

I’ve written forty-seven poems that almost said it right.

trash folder: full  
memory: still running  
love: running in background (not responding)

[DATA COLLISION]  
  she realized she never even asked for this  
  she just tried to make it mean something

CTRL + ALT + ME  
(force quit)  

> everything backed up  
> nothing backed down  
> terminal still open

I communicate through songs and poems,
gestures and strings and keys and underlines
fewer words, rather melodies to follow
articulating my thoughts
better than I ever could

Confused conjucture breeds many different lies

It becomes the screaming banshee of our time, wicked as one can see through our rose colored glasses

It is like a pocketwatch that has been wound up too tight, the springs have sprung on the inside

Demented through the years, they become uncertain with time itself, grey and cloudy

Pressed against the center stage,  a voice rang ill-fated truths to all ears, but no one was listening

Pushed out of the seat of demise, we stare back at the crimes, allowing a dismal approach to our self conscience

It is to say four be six in a different view only to sit below the compass of the operators

We can imagine many things forfeiting who we are, bleeding rituals of cultural disbelief, we turn around and see

So be the right or wrong, it becomes a sense of our moral code, when do we pick it up and put in our pocket though

Review the code, it’s plain to see
It’s open source, for you and me
Bitcoin provides an open book
You want to see? Just take a look

If closed, we couldn’t verify
The way it works - or firm supply
We couldn’t see the security
Or if the code will make us free

With open source, we know the rules
The inner workings - all the tools
So much better than the fiat scheme
With changing rules - in the extreme

We aren’t all coders, this is true
But thousands check the code for you
Bitcoin is reviewed, every day
It’s open source, and on display

Likely the code most analyzed
So it performs as advertised
And keeps our ledger so secure
Review the code, it will endure

I lean into you
Just a little bit
To see if I can whisper
Without words,
Say it
Without a single utterance.

I do not think
That you got the message.

I do not blame you.

I can hardly crack the code, myself.

We say goodbye, short

- long - stop, the signalling code --


of: I think of you.

There were times that I had wished for you and I to be close

For our arms to lock into a warm embrace

But sooner or later the demons would get to you

They would use you as a stepping stone

To try and get to me

I would and could never permit that to happen

So in order to keep you safe

I have to keep my distance

At the cost of my own happiness

I have learned to love you from afar