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[untitled letter, october third.]

Everything’s changed since you left, Finch.

Not all bad. Since his surgery, Jas has moved into our dorm. Your bed’s still free though, if you want to come back.

I know, it’s a stupid thought. I know why you can’t come back. I wish you’d pick up the phone so we could talk, but you won’t. So I have to keep writing these stupid letters, pretending you’ll read them.

I bet you don’t check your voicemail anymore either.

/ Leave a message, after the tone. / BEEP / Please, Finch, just talk to me. I need you to tell me that you don’t hate me and I know you don’t but I still need you to tell me. I’m slipping, Finch, I’m slipping again... /

There’s this boy - you know Rob? - yesterday, he tried to hold my hand. I let him, but I still hated him. And you. But mostly me.

I slept on the couch that night. Jas didn’t notice; too busy with nightmares.


I’m at low tide and so far, high tide always comes. But I’m scared. Some lows you can’t come out of. The highs are getting better, but that just means I have longer to fall. I’ll come visit you soon, I promise. And I’m sorry about the speech.

Graveyards still scare me, you know.

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