Messy

Dear you,

My reflections are three-dimensional. I see things within, and without limits. I imagine things that never exist and think of people that will never be. I dream of people I do not know or people I may have known for years and do not remember.
I think of myself as someone who doesn't know what they need until they have lost it, or who doesn't regret until it was too late to regret. I fight my thoughts with other thoughts, using exactly the same weapons. I have no other techniques nor tactics whatsoever to save myself in different ways. I try to use the same ways over and over again, expecting a different outcome.
My thoughts are so messy. They are empty and disorganised. My mind is made out of the mass of disorganisation, and my train of thoughts does not have a railway; it stumbles and tumbles in the corners of my mind, distracting every thought there is.
When I take a deep breath, I realise the mess I am in. Where did this thought go? Where did it come from? How can I begin to describe something from the middle, without introductions nor conclusions. I have no closures in my life. It feels as if I live in a whirlpool; I get dizzy just thinking of how to begin or make the lead.

And here I am, again, writing you with unorganised words and messy thoughts, hoping that you understand the gibberish I write, because, my darling, who can ever understand this if you won't?

Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.