Dear Babies,

You know I couldn't hurt you if I tried. There isn't a single fiber in my body that makes me wish ill upon you. Who knows what it would even take for me to speak those words I cannot speak, to feel those emotions I cannot feel. I can still taste you on my lips, in between my teeth like gritty earth stuck beneath the very tips of my fingernails. I am the watery glue that you wear like a second skin, like the flimsiest of armors. I am the thread which has been stitched between both ends of your wound, and why would you use me to sew things shut? Why not break me, just to see if you can spread the world wider at the ends? I want to give you the best of me, the parts I've yet to break and just maybe the parts I already have. Maybe you can salvage this broken spirit I have inside my pupae. I'm no pretty thing to look at, and I never will be. Heaven forbid, please, that I lose my substance. Sometimes you have me wondering, sometimes wishing I could shave off all of my hair just to start over. But I've heard it time and time again: you repeat your mistakes until you learn to fix them. In the end, the question is more what wouldn't I do... for you?

p.s. Why do I bother writing these vague letters when no one really cares? They accomplish nothing.