an Open Letter to a Dead Person

I am not sure if I should start this off as a formal letter as if I am applying for a job or just start writing, since I have no feelings toward the "Dear John" type. I feel as though since we have shared some time, space and breathable air that I owe you the initial 'I am sorry you are dead' speech. However, in life you were a miserable jerk who tried very hard to devastate me and my life as I knew it then. The mere fact that I am writing this gives me the chills of being human and having a heart. I appear sorry for your loss, now I am still out on whether or not I feel sorry. There is a mortal difference. There are no tangible tears for the thought that you are not on this earth. Should I say that I am on the fence? Is this the thin line between hate and despise? I will admit thinking of you since I was informed of your passing, thinking of the way you planned out my destruction and the filming of it so that you may, sometime down the road, relive it. I remember the many conversations involving mass murder. How you described the feelings of hurting people emotionally, psychologically and the power that came with the ability to do so. I could possibly be extending a better version of your intelligence than what you have actually offered over the years. Take that as a compliment as I give you very few in this letter. So here I deliver myself to the epiphany and/or dilemma. I have missed your funeral, not that I would have been there after our tumultuous friendship. Do I go to your grave and spit as those were my last words to you, or shed tears over the person you could have been? God knows I have tried to be a friend. I had willingly sacrificed a lot at certain times to help you find a peace that would be close to happy. Now that this is over, have you lost the misery you carried so well?

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