Dear Vanessa,

I posted a video of Luciana kissing your gravestone.

I’m not sorry. Who cares. You’re dead. It got engagement. People bought the book.

Long form doesn’t move on Instagram. I’ve tried. Nobody wants what I have to say.

What moves is cute clips of Luciana with dead mommy.

I’m not doing it anymore… probably. I might change my mind tomorrow.

I don’t hate it out of shame. Fuck those people who would judge me. It’s exhausting. It’s not what I want.

I’d rather write to you. On a website almost nobody reads. That feels less intrusive. Instead of groveling for likes, I’d rather bother you.

I wish the likes did something for me. I wish “she’s so precious” did something for me. They don’t. There’s nothing wrong with it. You ran an Instagram for Lola and Nala. Thousands of followers. You ate it up.

I wish I liked it.

I don’t.

So I’m stuck. Write here and hope it catches. Keep feeding the algorithm your daughter. Or let the book die.

Bad choice of words.

What would you do?

I already know.

You’d post the stupid clips and plug your nose.

I bet I’d get more views if you uploaded the video for me.

Think about it and get back to me.

Besitos,

Michael