hello. i am a god. and i am Alone.

So this isn't the part where it's revealed that Carson and I had an affair. Or that I loved him. Or that he was my secret best friend or long-lost brother. All Carson Harris was to me was some boy who went to my school who I would probably never ever see again after college But, evidently, Carson Harris knew me. Knew me well enough to write my name out before he died. Or, should I say, before Carson Harris got murdered.

I sigh, letting the string of that stupid pink balloon weave between my fingers. You keep texting me, and the buzzing is beginning to annoy me. "Please," the messages say, "come back." "I'm sorry." "Please forgive me." But I'm tired of forgiving you. Gazing out into the harbor, I want to forget. But I can't. I love you too much. I hate myself for it. I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself. More specifically, I hate you. And I love you. But I guess they're the same thing.