Forgive me for my mistakes I know I'm late on this letter, & thank you for never giving up, I hope you never give your love to someone who writes it better.. I don't know why I choose to do this, I'm abusive towards your uses.. my muse is using you to vent my pain & when I'm sane, these words are muted. I use your gift as an advantage to express my heart's demands &.. when I'm done, I'm on the run, leaving you abandoned. My expressions in these fonts ease depression when it taunts me.. I speak to you in secrets when these thoughts come on to haunt me.. like how it's hard to share my heart, 'cause people will only love me because they want me. & since they never claim their aims, I take all the blame, yet they always seem to fade when I say I don't feel the same. But you, you never change.. you cut me to the core and make me willing to explore.. then I use that same emptiness to fill yours.. plus you're always patient, in times I reminisce & I get pissed that I even lived within these rages, then when it gets too deep, I get weak & burn the pages.. my ink writes steady with a spark, when things weigh heavy on the heart.. but since you get me, you tend to trade the ugliness for art. & gift me codes in hopes that I'll expand, & meet this true command.. to teach growth, and touch souls despite my shaky hands.