fingertips.

Dear You pt.2

Our last conversation was an argument. You were drinking too much. You knew how it bought up bad memories of my father, and you still did it just to spite me. You didn't like how I was starting to open myself up to new people. You wanted me to depend entirely on you and I knew that was fucked up and selfish because I didn't put any expectations or demands like those on you. I tried explaining myself but things got heated quickly and we said things to each other that we should never have. God, we said some pretty nasty things too each other. You left, and I was too wrapped up in fury to notice how you were drunk and had taken the car.

There was a knock on my door well past midnight. I was still awake because I was waiting for you to come back so I could yell at you some more. I opened the door and instead of you standing there, there were two policemen.

"Are you Miss Heathers?"  One of them asked.

"Yes, how can I help you?"  I remember asking.

"I'm sorry to inform you-" He started, and after that, my mind had disconnected itself from its surroundings. Holding myself upright required energy I didn't have and so, I fell to the floor.

"NO, NO, no, no, no.."  Began an endless cycle of denial. "Why her, why me, why us?"  It continued.

Dear You, Teressa Keith Rogers. Not a day passes by that I do not miss you. Because missing is all I can do for you now. The night of the car accident was the worst night of my life. I'd never cried and screamed so much. I'd never felt that much pain. My throat was sore for weeks, but that was the least of my worries. There was your funeral, there was facing your parents haunted faces, there was our empty apartment, and there was me, all alone once again.

I still blame myself for what had gone down that night. I should never have let you leave the house in your condition. I shouldn't have done a lot of things I did and those regrets will stay with me forever. I'm trying to build a life without you, but it's difficult to do that while suffering from depression and constantly going back into the past and remembering all that we had. My therapist recommended I write you a bunch of letters. I think this will be the last and only one. This isn't a goodbye, of course. I'll probably come back to you, I always do.