Dear Meg,

twelve

[ November 3 2015 ]

Dear Meg,

I visited Mark's grave today. Alone.

I asked Angie if she wanted to come.

She said she had school stuff to do.

But I knew she was lying. She just doesn't care about him anymore. Yes, she might still cried a couple of days after his death but that was it.

You know how teenagers are, they care about one thing and then suddenly they just don't anymore. They only give a fuck about how they look, or their crushes or their reputations; themselves. Family comes second.

Or maybe she just didn't have the brotherly bond that Mark and I had.

Yeah, that's probably it.

You once told me that I always see the best in everything.

See, that's where you're wrong, Meg.

I can only see the best in other things except for myself.

I had grown to hate living in my own skin. I am broken. I am a pussy. There's nothing good in me.

I can't even count the amount of little things that I hate about myself that I bet no one else has ever even noticed.

That's where you're wrong.

Love, Dylan