A Bottle
I have written this letter hundreds of times. Never sent.
I don’t know where the line is between when I should just suck it up and keep going and when it’s time to complain. I don’t know why those two things are seen as mutually exclusive. I’m soldiering on after many vocal complaints. Both can exist, I think.
Some people just can’t be helped. They can’t help choosing to play the martyr, the victim. It’s fine to eventually let these people drown in the rough sea of their own making. The trick is saving the poor souls they might bring down with them.