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dear carolyn,
assuming my math is right, it's been two months and twelve days, but it kind of feels like it's been way longer.
how are things up there? at your funeral, they said that's where you went. the big 'h' word. heaven. (i think they're delusional. you die and you're dead, right?)
sorry. i'm a pessimist. or maybe an optimist. take it as you wish.
i hope you know that i miss you and your wired-up little smile. a lot.
if you promise to rest peacefully, i will too.

dear nicolette,
i knew you up until fourth grade, and then you left school.
but i will never forget the day out on the recess yard when we captured that speckle-winged swallowtail and ate those strawberry laffy taffies.
remember how we thought they actually made us laugh? and you were giggling so hard, but i was forcing myself to smile?
and then when mrs. meehan made us let the butterfly free, you cried, because it was the first thing you had ever let go.
i wish i could say the same for myself.

dear tim,
my mom still mourns your death quite often. though in silence, it's not hard to tell.
my fondest memory of you would probably be when you gave me a piggyback ride in front of grandma's cherry-red porch, a cigarette dangling from your lips and another unlit one in your pocket.
i remember telling you, 'uncle tim, uncle tim, those aren't good for you! smoking makes people die!'
little did i know that you'd suffer a death far worse.
sometimes, i have to turn those murder shows off.

dear olivia,
it's funny to think that we used to get along so well. i mean, it's not like we don't now, but i haven't seen you since july when we toasted marshmellows over the fire pit at midnight.
we amused ourselves with dolls together for the longest time, do you remember that?
you'd always have the barbies, and i had those stupid dollar-store ones that you let me borrow.
their houses were always so extravagant, plastic little chairs and playing-card tables.
the last time we ever played with them, i drowned my doll family in your creek.
i think that's when we stopped talking.

dear anna,
'animal doctor' was our favorite game, even when we were twelve.
you would always be the owner of the pet, and i'd be the veterinarian, and for some reason, i'd always have to perform a wildly unrealistic open-heart surgery.
and of course, your beloved stuffed animal would always turn out perfectly fine in the end.
pathetically enough, it comforts me to know that i could at least fix someone's heart.

dear z,
you kind of affected me in a way that you shouldn't have.
i promised myself that i'd try so hard not to write about you again, yet here i am, tapping mercilessly away at the goddamn keyboard to talk about your silver eyes and lopsided smile.
even though i shouldn't be, i find myself wanting to see you again.
just for a minute. literally. one fucking minute.
just to make sure that you're as okay as you said you'd be, and that you haven't wasted away into a pile of milky skin and splintered bones.
i don't really miss you,
but i can't stop reminiscing.

dear bailey,
stop clinging to the people in your past.

Description
dear carolyn,
assuming my math is right, it's been two months and twelve days, but it kind of feels like it's been way longer.
how are things up there? at your funeral, they said that's where you went. the big 'h' word. heaven. (i think they're delusional. you die and you're dead, right?)
sorry. i'm a pessimist. or maybe an optimist. take it as you wish.
i hope you know that i miss you and your wired-up little smile. a lot.
if you promise to rest peacefully, i will too.

dear nicolette,
i knew you up until fourth grade, and then you left school.
but i will never forget the day out on the recess yard when we captured that speckle-winged swallowtail and ate those strawberry laffy taffies.
remember how we thought they actually made us laugh? and you were giggling so hard, but i was forcing myself to smile?
and then when mrs. meehan made us let the butterfly free, you cried, because it was the first thing you had ever let go.
i wish i could say the same for myself.

dear tim,
my mom still mourns your death quite often. though in silence, it's not hard to tell.
my fondest memory of you would probably be when you gave me a piggyback ride in front of grandma's cherry-red porch, a cigarette dangling from your lips and another unlit one in your pocket.
i remember telling you, 'uncle tim, uncle tim, those aren't good for you! smoking makes people die!'
little did i know that you'd suffer a death far worse.
sometimes, i have to turn those murder shows off.

dear olivia,
it's funny to think that we used to get along so well. i mean, it's not like we don't now, but i haven't seen you since july when we toasted marshmellows over the fire pit at midnight.
we amused ourselves with dolls together for the longest time, do you remember that?
you'd always have the barbies, and i had those stupid dollar-store ones that you let me borrow.
their houses were always so extravagant, plastic little chairs and playing-card tables.
the last time we ever played with them, i drowned my doll family in your creek.
i think that's when we stopped talking.

dear anna,
'animal doctor' was our favorite game, even when we were twelve.
you would always be the owner of the pet, and i'd be the veterinarian, and for some reason, i'd always have to perform a wildly unrealistic open-heart surgery.
and of course, your beloved stuffed animal would always turn out perfectly fine in the end.
pathetically enough, it comforts me to know that i could at least fix someone's heart.

dear z,
you kind of affected me in a way that you shouldn't have.
i promised myself that i'd try so hard not to write about you again, yet here i am, tapping mercilessly away at the goddamn keyboard to talk about your silver eyes and lopsided smile.
even though i shouldn't be, i find myself wanting to see you again.
just for a minute. literally. one fucking minute.
just to make sure that you're as okay as you said you'd be, and that you haven't wasted away into a pile of milky skin and splintered bones.
i don't really miss you,
but i can't stop reminiscing.

dear bailey,
stop clinging to the people in your past.