Evidence.

This is not a suicide letter, as I never committed suicide. I was murdered. You killed me inside long before my heart officially stopped beating.

I admit that I was not the best of people. I admit that I was not demure, like you wanted me to be. I admit that I was wild, that I was unexpected, that I broke the rules. But that did not mean that you would criticise me till I was numb.

Yes, I smoked. I got drunk once in a while. I know it killed me. But you killed me first, and what you did not understand is that I only used them to kill the parts of me that were already dead.

Yes, I was dauntless. I did not care if people stared. I did not care if I showed too much skin. I did not care if I wasn't the stereotypical girl society wanted me to be. But unfortunately, you did.

I admit I wasn't an open book, I showed you the wrong pages, I mislead you. But that was only because you mislead me into thinking you could be trusted, and then proved it wrong. Yes, I did not offer to tell you everything, I was not the best loving daughter you could have had. But did you ever think of asking to turn the page, without contradicting me for once?

Yes, I lied a lot. It came to me as naturally as breathing. You hated me, you all hated my lies, and when you realized it, you called me fake. But I wasn't fake. I was only virtual.

How could you even know me when I didn't know myself?

You never stopped to ask me, never stopped to think what I wanted, did you? You only wanted me to be you. I'm sorry, but I never could.

I was tired.

Tired of crying myself to bed.

Tired of lying to myself.

Tired of faking smiles.

Tired of pretending to be happy.

Tired of blinking back tears.

Tired of your words.

Tired of your 'love' that bounced right off me.

And finally, one day, I realized that I wasn't tired anymore. I was dead.

I was no more a person. I was a machine, perhaps a broken one. And I decided, it was better to be fully dead than half so, since you had already stripped me off myself. I was bare, of my mind, of my heart, of my soul, of myself.

- Words left unheard of a soul lost forever.