Okay, I know you’re not a cheerleader. And that’s the last thing you want to be called. Or at least one of the last things you want to be called. And as much as I want to call you by your real name, it is difficult to do since I don’t really know what or who you are. That’s one of the things we do not talk about.
But I know you are here, reading this letter.
I also know that—if it weren’t for you—a number of our friends wouldn’t have done what they did if you hadn’t egged them on. And a number of them wouldn’t be in the rut they’re in if you hadn’t coaxed them.
You’re a wildcard. I know it. You know it as well.
While I am eternally grateful for such good words you helped me say to myself and to others, you’re the very same entity, the actual shadow behind such dark thoughts. You are great and terrible that with just one word, you pull a person away from his ruin. And you could push him to his death. All without laying a finger on him.
Let me remind you of the loyalty you swore to me.
And if you are loyal to me—and I seriously believe that you are—you would stop planting seeds into the many minds that see you at work. I’m saying this not because of the damage control. But the very potential that you have to do good. And only good.
The loyalty you swore to me is. May I not be wrong to believe where it lies.