Dear jerome david salinger:
I havent the slightest faintest clue what it is like, to be you.
and as much as I would like to say things that would please my own ego like: oh you and I are so similar, or I really see you'r point and almost had that one too.
I wont, thats such a horrible, ignorant thing to say, if I related to you it is not because I am special. not even because you are magically capable of comprehending humanity. but merely that we have the comfort of knowing despite diversity and mutual hatred, humanity works in patterns and we could all relate to one another, this also says about you, mr salinger, that you were self sacrificing, stepping on you'r own comfort and seclusion, to share a bit of pain, that soothes us all.
and for that I am so very thankful.
no one likes a hater. but I hate and I hate a lot I hated most people in highschool I will hate people in college I hate so many young people and I hate so many old people I hate so many concepts and behaviors and I have struggled with education and I have struggled with people and I have struggled with vanity and necessity to self asure and I dont know how you do it I dont know how you manage to teach me everything I need to learn.
in only three, skinny books.
I do know that good literature comes from being absolutely honest with you'r self, because as I said earlier, humanity works in patterns, you say how you felt, I most likely felt it too, and am relived that in my despair am not solitary.
what makes me so grateful, so thankful, is I know how it is like to try and write:
I know how it is more hell than anything else.
but you wrote anyways. and I thank you for that.
P. s: being a child is not the only way for one to be good and genuine.
love and various other chaoses
abby
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