To My Dearest Dealer,

0
137

Nights grow colder and colder without your dank kush by my side. Looking back, I now realize that I didn’t appreciate you as much as I should have. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to truly forgive myself. Mother and father don’t approve of our relationship, but I know that it is only because they refuse to try and understand what we have.

My cherished cannabis chapman, I don’t even dare to try and count the days anymore. I know deep down that it would just be too much sadness for my fragile heart to bear. The days and nights and weeks have blended together, and all I feel now is great and profound emptiness.

Every single night, I wake in a cold sweat. My mind frantically circles back to the day I only bought an 1/8th. How delusional was I to think that a measly 1/8th could sustain me and my needs? I tried to ration my supply, but all my efforts were for naught.

I had never known hell until this very day. I went my whole life thinking that 4/20 was to be a day of unlimited joy. Of endless tokes and rips and hits. Oh how I miss the coughing fits, the smells, the possibilities. I was ignorant, my doobie dispenser, just so damn ignorant.

My sweet supplier, I miss you profoundly. My anxiety grows high as my tolerance deteriorates to nothing. Please promise that you will keep me in your thoughts. I can’t bear the thought of you forgetting me.

I await the day we can be reunited.

Yours truly,

Ava Splifton