Nyctophilia

Thirty-Three.

To: Lilly

I can't seem to find a way to feel myself again, so I hope a letter to you will suffice.

Lately I've been remembering. You know? I've been remembering all these things we used to do when we were little. I remember when I got you that journal for your birthday. You tried to be polite when saying that writing wasn't really your thing. But you loved it nonetheless. You kept, after all these years, and then you finally used it.

Your funeral is tomorrow. I'm not sure if it'll leave me feeling worse than I already do, or if it'll give me some closure. But seeing as things aren't really working in my favor, I'll have to go with the first one. It can't get much worse...

What sucks is that I'm actually kind of mad at you. I can't believe you would do something like that to all of us. That's going to haunt us for the rest of our lives. God, I can't believe you did that.

You're gone now, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. The girl I used to know is long gone, replaced by something dead and unreachable. That happy little girl grew up to be suicidal, and I didn't even realize it until it was too late.

I wonder what it'll be like to go to school and face all the whispering and staring. I wonder if I'll care.