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dear matt,

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dear matt,

i'm fully aware your 21st birthday is coming up, but i'm still torn whether or not i should call. i hate the thought of you, half-drunk and happy. i hate the thought of you being perfectly fine while i'm still hurting. i hate the thought of you going out without me.

i'm also fully aware it was my fault for leaving to manhattan without you. i'm sorry i didn't tell you sooner, i was too scared to let you go but i let you go anyway. i regret it all now, but there's no going back is there?

i don't know anymore. i should've stayed in l.a., i'm twenty-one. but maybe leaving was for the best, my pap needs me and i can't leave him all alone. he's my dad and i can't just send him off.

maybe i should've had him come over to cali, but the far move and packing up my childhood home would be too hard for even myself. i don't know what i should've done.

i'm scared.

i don't know where this road leads me and i wish i had a second opinion before i made this life-changing decision. it's my first night here in my little twin bed with my little strawberry shortcake sheets. it smelled like my childhood, too, in some sort of way.

i wish you were here to help me figure this out.

this is too messy in my head, but nobody will hear me out.

best,
etta

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