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February 1st, 2016

Dear Mikey... Michael,

They say I should write to you and tell you about the accident.

I'm not sure why I have to write to you; don't we live together?

At least, that's what I last remember.

We still live together, don't we?

Wait, I live with Luke?

Since when?

That's weird.

You and I have lived together since freshman year of college.

Of course we still live together!


Apparently I'm wrong.

Apparently we haven't lived together for three years.


I don't remember three years passing by.

I don't remember our breakup.

I don't remember dating Luke.

I just remember you and me.

We woke up in the same bed this morning, didn't we?

You made your usual morning coffee.

I drank my morning tea.

You still intern at Portland Tech, don't you?

I intern there, at least.

At least that stayed the same.


We walked together to work this morning, didn't we?


'This morning" actually means three years ago.

I keep forgetting.

Right:  back to the part of me not remembering anything.


Here goes.

I remember falling asleep last night--or was it three years ago?--in our apartment, tucked in your arms.

But when I woke up, all I heard was worried voices above me.

They didn't know I was awake, even after I'd opened my eyes.

You would've noticed in a heartbeat, I'd reckon.


After awhile, Luke noticed.

I wasn't surprised that Luke was there.

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