I found this letter while cleaning out my book bag. I wrote it. I don't know to who.

The tears fall so often and for so many reasons. I have an illness that has no treatment or cure. Anger, rage, sadness, and sorrow -- these are the things I feel most. My mind swims with thoughts too dangerous to even be written on paper. STrange enough these thoughts are why I write. I don't like to cry. I don't like to feel pain. I odn't like to cause others pain. That's why I write. My soul is on paper. It's too dangerous to take with me. Maybe for one day I'll speak from my soul and not from my head. I'll speak my true feelings and not what they want to hear. I won't force a snile to make them feel more secure. Why should I? When I myself am so insecure. I hate for people to look at me. I hate to make eye contact for I fear they'll see into the depths of my soul and see the nothingness that exists. They will see the sorrow -- the wound of my soul that masks everything in a shade of blood red. The wound grows deeper eeryday I go without treatment. My soulution: Bury my soul deep within the snow. Make it impossible for anyone to find it, If they can't get to my sould, they can't do anymore damage... unfortunately they cannot heal me either. So let my soul rest there and die the slow painful death it will. My soul will bleed the tears will fall and when it stops....

The End....

-- Zero B. Lowe

End Letter