eight

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February 16, 2016

Em,

I still haven't heard from you.

I haven't stopped thinking about you since your letter.

Are you okay?

Every day that passes without a letter form you makes me worried sick.

I feel so guilty knowing now, months too late, that you had been waiting for me the day of the accident.

And I never showed up.

If only I had known.

If only I had seen your letters.

Before Kendra.

God.

It's crazy how you live with a person for several years, and never truly understand them.

You think you know someone. You know what they like. You know what they don't like. You know what makes them happy.

You also know what drives them crazy.

I guess that's where you and I absolutely destroyed each other.

The one obstacle we could never overcome, no matter how hard we tried.

But anyways. You know all that.

And I feel awful that, after everything we've been through, you thought I didn't want to meet you.

I did, I swear. If I knew, I would have shown up.

I still would.

Please believe me.

But.

I'm guessing it's too late.

I'm guessing you don't want to meet me anymore.

I'm guessing all your memories came back.

I'm guessing that you now remember what a terrible monster I am.

What we've been through.

What you put me through.

What I put you through.

You probably regret writing me a letter in the first place.

But, Em.

We were best friends.

And I know we hurt each other.

A lot.

That doesn't excuse what I did, what you did.

I know that.

But we've moved on from that.

I mean, we had.

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