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. I find it emotionally exhausting. Marketing for the book on Instagram is about the same amount of fun as getting a root canal.

Yes, I remember how awful getting a root canal was for you.

Adding Luciana to the mix is torture.

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 people eventually read my ramblings that are being sent into a void, or keep feeding the algorithm your daughter.

The third option is just let the book die.

Bad choice of words.

Maybe I should stop. The book already accomplished what I initially wanted. Something for Luciana when she is older.

What would you do if you were alive and I was dead?

I already know.

You’d post every cute clip imaginable.

But other than the fact that I don’t want to do it. I’m also very lazy.

I bet I’d get more views if you uploaded a video.

Think about it and get back to me.

Besitos,

Michael