Dear my beloved,

I can never comprehend what is inside your mind. You are such a paradox indeed. Understanding your way of thinking can lead even Freud to madness. It's a labyrinth more complicated than the one housing the minotaur. Or worse, even Minotaur cannot bear to live in your everchanging labyrinth. A harpies' nest with constant dragon flame and the darkness of the deep ocean.

You are supposed to love and protect me in your bosom. Your role has been sung by the poets since the dawn of time, the tale of a heart you're supposed to have has been recited in both literature and psychology. Lacan called you warmth, Freud called you the first love, storytellers call you the womb, religious freak calls you the guardian.

Yet, you guarded me with knife and broom. Every bruise on my back is your sign of love, you said. The scar on my cheek is a proof of your everlasting affection, isn't it? What about the knives? Constant knives in front of my eyes? Are they also your way to protect me? You don't want me to get hurt outside, but you're willing to hurt me yourself.

In the name of your love, you would rather kill me yourself than seeing me getting killed outside. But an assumption cannot be justified, for I may not kill myself outside. Yet, my death will be certain on your hand. You love blood, you love the violence, you love the sound of my cry, and above all, you love the music of my surrender and desperation.

The knives have haunted my nights. It has been more than a year, but I just can't forget piece of sharp metal in front of my face. I just can't forget the rolling thunder from your mouth that threw me away to the slump of humiliation. At that night, you striped my humanity out of me. I'm just an animal you can slaughter at any time. For any reason. To your demand. In the end, it's always you.

I got out of your sight. Trying to start a new thing. Yet, now you can't shut your mouth asking me to get back. For what? You're no warmth, you're no love, and you're no affection. Are you trying to get me back to repeat the torture again? Are you trying to get me back just so you can kill me anytime you want? So you have your non-human object?

I am tired, dear Mum!