Dear ghost,
For the past four months, there is a hollow in my stomach. It's unlike the butterfly but so much like the bottom of the well. The water have always been dried up but the wall looks more suffocating. I have been degraded.
"Write again."
"...learn."
"...you shouldn't."
"...are not good."
"...be more careful."
"...Figure out." And so on.
I feel degraded. Like I shouldn't be here. My fragile ego immediately collapse at the face of my stumble. I am incompetent that's what it meant for me. And I don't know how to fix it. I would rather I was a robot. It seems I am my biggest hurdle.
Yours even as I fear to be.