dear caroline,
over the weekend, i saw a pair of twins with matching braids down to their waists. and even when they came over to ask me why i was staring, i could only shrug and apologize.
their hair reminded me of when we were young, at the beginning years of our friendship. you'd gone through a girly phase, always meticulously dressed with two matching braids hanging down on either side of your head.
it makes my throat dry to think about the fact that you don't remember that. you don't remember the moments when i tugged on the ends of the braids, only to be swatted away by your impatient hands.
you've always been one impatient girl, caroline, and maybe that's what keeps me - and the rest of those who care about you, of course - hoping that you'll recover and quickly, too.
you're much too stubborn and much too impatient to let your mind simply take things from you.
not when you wouldn't even let me carry your books through the halls, insisting that since they were your books, you'd carry them.
i remember watching you slouch down as you carried your leaden bag on one of your shoulders, the other arm filled with the textbooks you needed for the day, and thinking that i wished i could have just carried them for you.
and now, i wish i could just carry you.
signed,
cooper
YOU ARE READING
mellifluous
عاطفيةthe doctors said that after the accident, nothing could bring back all of caroline's memories. there were times and places that she would never remember and that pained him. so no matter what the doctors said, he tried. he left her letters in hopes...
