The English Version: Finding nothing in the nothingness of nothing - Invenientes in nihilo nihil

Dear Mr. Mill,

It has been a long time since I last thought of spending the time writing to you. For the past months, you have become nothing but a distant memory of the short-term happiness I once had in my hands. You were my rock, my star, for a short period of time, but suddenly, in the blink of an eye, in a split second, you were gone as fast as you came into my life. I can never be too sure about anything. I swallowed my pride just to let you know how I feel, it was not a way of forcing you to reciprocate: actually, it was a way of telling you I had to let you go. It was as simple as letting everything out then finally getting over it. Everything works that way, right?

You have been ignoring me for as long as I can remember. I don't know where to put myself. You suddenly make your existence felt and as fast as you made a move, the faster you're gone. A lot of things have changed since we last talked. I was not the depressed piece of shit you once knew. I have finally learned to divert emotions into other things. At least some of it. I'm not good at such things. I was a pessimist by choice, you know that. As long as you keep on neglecting me, I will go on waiting for you. But that's not a promise nor an assurance. It's just how I feel at the moment. I still need you to listen to me, that's all. You are my refuge, my oasis in the desert, the sea of my life-long voyage.

PS. You should really be flattered that someone notices your existence in a sea of people. It's not everyday you meet someone like me, who's willing to go the extra mile just to let you know how special you are.