letter thirteen

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Mallory,


I've been home for five days and I can feel it coming. Death is looming, taunting me. Just when I think I can let go and move on, I snap back and am forced to continue existing for a while longer. 

Most days I just lie on the sofa in the living room and let my fragile body sink into the cushions. I remember before things got too bad with you and I how my body used to fall deep into the pillows- now I float on top. 

Some days I venture out to the bridge near the tree house with my cannula tickling my nose and my oxygen cart and sit with my legs dangling over the old thing. My small body fits perfectly in between the slats of the sides and I just let myself hang there. It doesn't scare me- not anymore. I sit there and think about how you jumped from this dumb bridge when I left. How much pain were you feeling? How much sorrow? How much heartache, regret? How could you clamber up onto the precarious rail, and just jump?

But the only question that matters, 


how could I leave?


It's been months and I'm still trying to wrap my dumb brain over the damn question, but all I can think is,




Of course I deserve this ending,


I fucking left.



With love,


Preston Arsement♥

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