Dearest Mara,
I am now a married woman. Do you remember how when we were little, we would both take turns wearing that white sundress of yours, pretending we were getting married? You were my first love, Mara. I still love you. But I love August in a different way.
You have become my closest confident. I have told you things I am afraid to tell anyone else. I am not quite sure why this is. You have always been someone I could talk to, someone who would listen to my worries. Well, now I have something I need to tell you.
I have cancer. I have known about it for a while, but it has gotten worse. The end of my days is drifting ever nearer. I am haunted with dreams of August standing at my funeral, still in his wedding attire.
I knew something could happen, I always knew. I guess I just hoped nothing would. It's made me a fool, this weak facade of okay-ness.
I'm not sure what to do anymore.
Love,
Anna
