February, 6, 2014
Dear Jack,
It's been exactly 6 weeks since you left now... I wonder if you even know that it's been that long. I bet you don't care though, I bet you don't even think of me anymore. But, there's a little piece of me that's hoping that maybe, just maybe, you're thinking of me right now, too.
You know what? I still have that damn photo of us from when we were at the water slides on my bed side table. The one where your wearing the black glasses I bought you, and you have your arms wrapped around me.
It's my favourite photo of us. We look content. We look happy. I wish I could reply that day as well, it was an absolute blissful day.
In all honesty, every day was blissful when you were around. I still wonder what went wrong between us. And I guess maybe I'll never know.
I hope you know I still think about you, I hope you don't mind I still have some of your clothes either. I'm actually wearing your red rvca polo right now. It doesn't smell like you anymore, but I still like to wear it. It's comfortable, and I know I told you this before, but it makes me feel like you're still around.
I wish you were. Oh god, do I ever.
But, things are how they are and I need to learn to accept them no matter how hard they are. Don't I?
But fuck. No, no, no, no, no. Fuck, I just can't. I don't want to get over the fact that you're gone. I don't want to believe that you're not here with me anymore. I just can't fucking do it. I'm an absolute mess, and here I am, sitting on my bed at eleven pm, writing another letter containing my feelings that you'll never even read. I know half of them are just me blabbering on about how much I miss you, but it's true. You're always on my mind, withering away in the back of my thoughts. Sometimes I feel as if I'm a withering rose, one that was once beautiful and blissful, but now withered and grey.
I miss you, more than anything. And I'll say it a million times because I don't think anything can compare to the way you make me feel. I love you, for fuck sakes, I love you so much and I just want you to come back to me.
I need you to come back to me Jack.
Here I go again, crying, covering another letter with stains from my tears... I hope you don't mind though, I guess in a weird way it shows how much I truly miss you.. Or maybe it just goes to show how much of a pathetic, heartbroken teenager I am. But it doesn't matter, because nothing is going to stop the tears from pouring out of my eyes, so I guess I have to deal with it.
It doesn't matter because you will never read any of these letters either.
Anyways, I hope you're doing well, Jack.
Love,
Ashley.