noah,
today we moved out of the neighborhood. your absence was much too hard to take. we moved into another suburb, noticeably small. it's quiet, peaceful. here, sound is to be cherished.
i went down to the grocer's at the end of the street today. i was eyed; new people are always eyed. but that's just human nature.
at the grocer's, i noticed a pack of maryland cookies perched atop a shelf. it was close to falling off. it reminded me of you. you used to love those things.
the house is ranch style. it's beautiful. remember how i used to love beautiful things?
well, i can't bring myself to love this house because it misses something. something important.
you.
YOU ARE READING
elizabeth's hatbox
Teen Fictionin which she writes to her brother; her dead brother. » lowercase intended »
