6.3.1986 #2/age 16

      I keep trying over and over and over to say how I feel. But there seems to be no such vocabulary. I just feel like I've been emptied of all the good inside myself, like all my ability to love and care has been exterminated, extinguished with the pile of bullets that ended your life.

      You were so good. Why couldn't you see that? There wasn't a better person in the world, and all that good, gone. I keep hoping, every night before I shut my eyes, that I will wake up and find the nightmare is over. And I won't have to tuck myself in without a kiss and you placing the blankets on me. Can't you take it back? Don't you miss me?

      I would die for you, you bastard. You promised we'd go together if one of us wanted to go, you promised you'd call. Why did you want me to live alone so badly?

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