Dear Señora,
He's not here, you know. He told me a couple weeks ago, late at night, that he needed to get away. When I asked him what he meant he only apologized. I might have cried a bit. That's not the point.
I can hear you yelling sometimes, late at night. You're only two houses away, you know, and the houses on this street are really that sound-proof. I can hear you, but I can't really understand you.
I can however, understand him. I can understand his crying and his anger and his drinking problems. As much as I hate them, I can understand his suicidal tendencies and self-destructive habits. I can understand the anxiety attacks and I can understand him when he looks me in the eye and says that he would rather die than go home.
Can you understand that? Do you need help?
I've been learning some Spanish.
él te odia, él lastima, y él volverá.
He'll be back when he's ready. He checked himself into the hospital so he wouldn't hurt himself. He checked himself in so you couldn't hurt him, so he could sort out his head without you being there to sabotage his progress.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
