It's been almost a year now, we lost all contact and I know you're still out there. I'm sitting here writing this on the eighth day of march, the year of twenty seventeen, hoping you'd magically appear again with your wacky hair colours and your loud and contagious laugh. I don't know where you are, what you're doing, how you're feeling, or anything, for a matter of fact. I just know you're out there making someone smile like you did before. If you're reading this (it's too late), I want to apologize for everything I said before you left. It wasn't right for me to try and start an argument over something so stupid as boys. I regret it all and if you were here now, I'd do anything to prove to you that I did not mean a single word I said. You were my best friend and my partner in crime, and I lost you. I'm pretty sure everyone did, and I'm being selfish by saying this but I just want you back in my arms. You made me laugh, you made me cry, you made me smile, you made me happy. I miss your music taste and I miss the mornings where you'd call me up right after midnight and tell me that the sun was rising and it'd be okay. Sometimes you'd even pick my up and we'd drive off to somewhere with the windows rolled down, your favorite depressing songs playing on the loudest level of sound on your radio. I miss your laugh and your freckles, and how you complained about how ugly the both of those aspects of yours were. You were beautiful, inside and out, even with your hoodlum self. Speaking of that, I miss when you'd come back after a long ass time of being locked up. You'd complain about your probation officer, too. You'd make me laugh and smile when I didn't really feel like it. I guess all I'm trying to say is that; I miss you, Asma Mae Williams. I want you back.
