Losing A Friend

LETTER 2

He immediately picked up the second letter, curiosity taking him over. He wanted to know everything. She knew the outcome of her life for a while. It was evident. She knew exactly why she ended her own life. It was practically planned out. That's what he came up with.

He wanted to know her reason down to the very last detail.

My beloved,

I was so happy when I met him. We met at a library, you know, my favorite place of all time. He was the most caring person I could've met. Except for you, of course.

I had been seeing him for a couple of weeks. He was such a great guy. He took me out one week to an art museum. He's knowledgeable. He told me about the history of lots of paintings and sculptures. Afterward, he took me to dinner, and we talked a bit more. He then asked me to be his girlfriend.

I said, yes. He then took me home and surprised me with a bouquet. He then told me goodnight and kissed me. You should've seen me; I was a blushing mess. You know how I get.

Every time I was with him, I would get butterflies in my stomach, and my heart would feel so warm and full of excitement.

I fell for him hard. Within weeks after being together, I knew I loved him. And he loved me. I was crazy for him and always wanted him to be with me. I saw my future with him. I know, I'm so naive.

I seriously felt like he was the one. He was smart, caring, loving. He would do little things to show his love for me. How could I not be in love with him?

He knew what he was doing.

I was completely and utterly blindsided, and he knew it.

With much love.

He placed the letter down. He felt dread. He knew that this boyfriend of hers was going to be a problem; he could sense by the way she spoke. He wasn't sure what to do, should he continue or take a break? If he wanted to, he could finish all her letters in one night. Yet, he wasn't. He stayed staring at the rest of the unopened letters and felt a wave of sadness consume him.

He got up from his dinner table and walked to his empty fridge and grabbed a beer.

He didn't want to feel sad. He tried to avoid any feelings. He opened his bottle of beer and took a large swig of it. He wasn't much of a fan of beer, but this would help him in the long run.

Or so he thought. In reality, he was going to drink himself to tears. He was going to look through their pictures and reminisce through them. He was probably going to yell in anger and start throwing things.

He was probably going to try and call her, knowing she wouldn't answer, but hopelessly hoping she could.