Daniel Handler

I'm writing it in a letter, the whole truth of why it happened. And the truth is that I goddamn loved you so much.

Here we are at the bottom, almost empty. It's like confetti, these dried remnants you find in the street for a party no one invited you to. But they used to be, I can admit, part of something beautiful.

You know I want to be a directos, but you could never truly see the movies in my head and that, Ed, is why we broke up.

I'm a lunatic wandering around for scraps, I'm like every single miserable moron I've scorned, and pretended I didn't recognize. I'm all of them, every last ugly thing in a bad last-minute costume. I'm not different, not at all, not different from any other speck of a thing.

I'd ruin any day, all my days, for those long nights with you. And I did. But that right there was why it was doomed.

The file clanked against me, my stupid idea nobody would have gotten had I ever done it. You even wouldn't have gotten it, Ed, I thought, watching her go. It's why we broke up, so here it is. Ed, how could you?