him her

boy

I wonder

well, I've been wondering a lot lately, actually.

about why hasn't my father come to visit me?

does he not care?

am I not good enough,

is he dead?

is he gone, left..

like my mother did.?

Surely he knows I'm well.

.

I've been thinking a lot lately, too.

about that one girl, Arendela, I learned her name was.

why did she have to die?

why couldn't I have been the one to go, and maybe her near-death experience would be enough to shake her out of it, to make her want to live, realize there's something to live for.

I sure did.

They said they never found her body.

Arendelas, I mean.

They never found it.

a part of me wants to cling onto a sliver of hope that she just, well, ran away

wouldnt that be a god damn miracle?

maybe, maybe just then i could live with myself.

realize she made it out fine.

But, then again.

They had found ripped clothing.

Woman's clothes.

Girl clothes.

Her clothes.

Arendelas clothes.

Ripped clothes, you know.

She's dead.