"It has been 89 days, and I am still looking for you in places you have never been. Places you would never have been caught in if we weren't speaking in the past tense, if good things didn't happen to everyone but the two of us.
In retrospect, I wish I wouldn't have picked up your things from your parents' house. I wish I was softer somehow, or maybe I just wish I didn't feel the need to protect your delicacy even in death.
I hope you send me a thank you card from wherever you are now, and I trust it's beautiful in all the ways you never were.
It's not that I didn't love the way you destroyed yourself in the end, it's just that there are better ways to go up in flames, darling, and I think you could have burned a little brighter, a little longer.
Maybe we all pick our poison; you chose yours and I'm slowly choosing mine. But honey, the wine tastes so good going down my throat, and the writing only hurts if I think about it too much."
