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Yeshelloyou're
That it's been six months since you talked to me, laughed with me, grinned at me.
That it's been five months and twenty-seven days since I looked at you, lying there so still in your coffin.
My therapist gave up on me. I didn't think therapists could do that, but she really didn't have any other options. She's probably never had such an unresponsive patient.
Patient. I sound like a sick person. Like she's a doctor who needs to cure me.
She told me that our sessions were obviously making no progress.
I told her she was right. Or, I would have, but I don't really talk much any more. I just looked at her, and she understood.
She leaned forward, her fingertips gently resting against each other, looking at me over the rims of her glasses. Then she said that she had one more idea, only one more option left.
I waited.
She said it might be a hard thing to do, but perhas I should start writing to you. Like letters or something. That way, it might feel like I'm talking to you, or I'm closer to you.
At least she finally caught on to the fact that she can't make me move on. Because I'll never get over you.
She said I should keep sort of a journal, and I should write to you. After all, she said, I used to love writing so much before.
Of course, there's really no comparing before and now.
She wants to read the stuff I write to you, of course, but I'm not going to let her. I'm just going to fill out another notebook and let her read that.
Because anything I say to you is just for you.
Because, for a whole year of my life, you were the only thing that mattered to me.
You'redead
I would look at you more than the teacher, board, or book.
I knew you better than I knew food chains.
I failed Biology.
But I fell in love.
Youneverfellin
We were Juniors, and you were the only thing I thought about.
It was cliche, I knew. But I loved you and you didn't know I existed.
I still remember the time you finally realized I existed. Maybe you remember it too.
We were at a dance. It was just for Juniors. Some song was on, and you were getting really into it.
It was weird to see, because you tried not to act really into anything, usually.
But I was close to you, not so much hoping to talk to you, because I knew better, but just wanting to be near you.
You misjudged a hop and fell backwards onto me.
I'm sure people laughed, gasped, whatever, but all I remember is your body on mine, the hard, thin outline of you covering me. I was always shorter than you, and I wasn't comfortable.
I remember my vision swimming, and you climbed off of me, swearing at yourself as you helped me up, apologizing profusely.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" you said.
"I'm okay!" I shouted back over the music.
That was a lie. Fire was ripping up and down my body as I got to my feet.
"You don't look okay," you replied with a frown as I winced, gingerly moving my shoulder. I don't know if you knew what you looked like right then, but you were beautiful. The way your eyebrows drew together, your head tilted ever so slightly to the right.
"I'll be fine," I called back, even though my jaw was throbbing.
You shook your head. "Nah, c'mon. Let's go get you some First Aid or something."
Later we found out that you'd broken two of my ribs.
But who needed ribs? I'd found a friend in you that day, and for that, you could have broken every bone in my body.
Rememberwhen
That little frown crossed her face, the same expression that you used to get, except it didn't make her look good. On you, it was such a cute little look, but on her smooth, thin face, it had nowhere near the same effect.
She told me that this wasn't quite what she'd had in mind.
I spoke then, telling her that I'd done what she'd told me to do.
She said that she'd pictured something less stiff, more open.
I asked her how I could be open if I knew she was going to read it later.
She said I didn't need to think about her reading it later; I just needed to freewrite and let it all out to you.
I nodded and acted like I understood, but see if she ever gets that.
Like I said: Anything I say to you is just for you.
Allthe
He died three days after that.
I always thought he was the greatest dad ever. He was never a thin man, but somehow that was better, because his hugs sort of swallowed you up, and he'd squeeze so tight that you just felt so safe, like you knew he'd never let go if you didn't want him to, and he'd just protect you from everything.
He used to have his own smell, a combination of his cologne and the lingering scent of something else, something that just hung around him, something you couldn't quite put your finger on, but it was unquestionably his.
If he was here, I'd be hugging him every day, because he'd understand about you and try to make it all better.
My mom doesn't understand. She never has and she never will.
I'm sure you remember Mom, because she was the bane of our existence once we started dating. You were my first real boyfriend, and she just completely freaked at the idea.
We were never the greatest of families, and we lived in the bad part of Jersey, just like you, but now that I had a boyfriend, she suddenly felt the need to put on this 'good mom' show.
Now I had a curfew; now I couldn't go certain places by myself; now I couldn't lock myself in my bedroom with you. As soon as you'd leave my house, she'd flop onto the couch, snap on the television, and drink herself to sleep.
Yeah, Ma was an alcoholic.
So now the house is just so empty. Now that Dad's gone, you're gone, and Mom doesn't understand or really do anything at all.
I tried to tell that to Terri once, one day when she actually had me talking more than usual, but it came out all wrong, and I don't think I'll try again.
Didyou
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