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two.

i'd been going to the bridge ever since my brother jumped off of it, right before summer had started.

everyday i'd wake up at dusk en just walk there.

i passed his apartment on the way, and sometimes his girlfriend would be sitting out there.

i'd often mistaken her for ashton.

once i got to the bridge, i'd walk to the middle, right over the water,

and i'd sit.

i usually brought the book that the police from the scene of his suicide had given me, 

looking for alaska.

i'd read and re-read it probably over a million times,

hoping to find some piece of him in it.

and no matter how hard i looked,

i didn't think i ever would.

yours,

delia