Letters From a Girl

Letter One

Dear Taliya,

It's hard, you know. Being the only survivor. I mean, sure, that much is obvious. That's not the worst part though. The worst part would have to be the guilt. Living with my actions. The actions that lead to my downfall.

Too extreme, maybe? Sorry. I miss them though, you have to realise that. I accept it for what it was, but I can't accept the fact that they are gone. Forever.

Forever is a long time. Too long. Who waits forever for anything? People are more likely to leave you than to have patience. To leave rather than support you.

It's just easier to leave. Easier to give up on the world than remain. Of course, there's always the people who claim to support you, but leave just when you need them most. I know that you didn't mean to do that, to leave me when you couldn't cope. But the fact remains that you did. Just when all I needed was someone to care.

Please, don't feel bad about that. You lasted longer than most people, it's true. But all good things have to come to an end, right? I will always love you, but you don't understand just how much it hurts to be abandoned. It hurts so much, Ty. So so much.

I guess the purpose of this letter is to say sorry. Sorry for all the damage I have caused. Sorry it had to end like this.

Everyday is a new day, they say. A fresh start. Nothing is truly a fresh start though. At least, not to me.

I don't fully understand myself when I send you these letters. All I know is that I have to let it out somehow, let it go, in the words of Elsa. Not a Frozen fan? I apologise. Please don't blame me for this, but I just happen to love Disney. I have since I was young. I'm still young, I suppose but I feel old. Not ideal to feel old though. Not yet.

Would you believe me if I told you I'm only sixteen? I hardly believe it myself, most days. To me I will always be twelve, forced to care for my sister. I won't tell you her name, it doesn't feel right, somehow. As if if you find out her name, you can find me. And you can't find me. Not yet.

Someday, I promise, I shall contact you. Call you up for being such a great friend, maybe. I pray that it will be for that reason, not to tell you how sorry I am, sobbing along to Jar of Hearts.

For now, at least, be happy that I have chosen to speak to you. A new letter should be arriving once a week, for however long works for me. I hope this doesn't impose on you too much; I would hate to be a problem.

What so many people don't realise is how hard it can be to carry on, to lift your head off the pillow every day, to move. It is so so hard, Tal. So hard to fit in, to act normal whilst your world crumbles to pieces around you, pieces that clog the air with dust, choking you to death.

No, I'm not being overly dramatic. I truly feel as though this is my life at the moment, the way that the world wants me. Beaten down. Pushed to the bottom of the stairs and kicked in the ribs. Anything besides happy. Happiness is a sin. Of course, no one quite understands another person fully. But isn't there someone else in the world who knows what it feels like to be unable to feel?

Numb, for want of a better word. I feel numb constantly.

Nothing is the same anymore. Everything, and I mean everything has changed since the accident. Even you have changed - please, I beg of you, stop acting so gentle around everyone. It isn't you.

Tal, I'm so sorry for burdening you with this. It doesn't feel fair, somehow. Doesn't feel fair that whilst I'm writing this to you there is the possibility that you are searching for me - searching for the writer of these letters. Please, I beg of you, don't search for me. Not yet, at least. I promise that I will tell you who I am. But not yet. Now is too soon.