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Dear Maverick,

I met a girl like you today.

I was at the river next to the house we live in now.

We left our old one because mom didn't want to be around the memory of what happened to you there.

The girl's name was Eleanor.

I like that name. Elegant, yet silly.

She told me how she lived in a house on the other side of the river.

Her sister pushed her into the river as a joke, killing her.

Her sister died not long after not wanting to live with the fact that she killed her little sister.

I felt so sorry for her.

But Eleanor doesn't like pity because she says that pity is always useless.

Eleanor told me I have a gift, talking to the dead.

I told her that I can see her but I dot think I will ever see you.

She said that was the tragic part of it.

I must leave. The school bus has stopped.



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