Letters to the lost

Hello,

Today was the first time that I went hiking without you. I had about as much fun as I always had before you came along, though there were moments where I thought of you. That mountain is riddled with pieces of you. Every bench, several stones and a handful of random places of dirt hold you within them. I wanted to just curl up at the top, in that spot where you once laid down and got someone's old popcorn stuck to the back of your shirt. Those jerks.

It was wonderful receiving word from you this morning. Each word was read exactly how I imagined how it would sound if you were to be sitting beside me, speaking slowly. Two sentences and a link, taken into me over and over. I cried when I read them. I've cried again, every time I went back to see them.

Things I wish I'd put in my returned message:

- I'm so glad that you still think about me.

- I'm sorry that things are the way they are now.

- Hopefully, we'll get to talk again someday.

- There is so much I wish I could tell you.

- Seeing you call me Ms. Adair made me miss you a whole lot.

I hope that there are more messages to come. Truly though, I rather doubt it. I know how you are, I came to know you well enough. You'll put your all into making things work. I do wish you luck, half heartedly at least.

I still wonder about how your interview with the airforce recruiter went. You never did tell me about it and I've had it on my mind since that morning. I doubt you even realize that you never told me about how it went. There was a lot of changes that went on that day.

There finally was a poem written about you, in some sense. It's probably not one you'd like to claim about you. Not an angry poem, but kind of a sad one. But it's there, for eyes to read.

Slowly, I'm letting go. Letting go of your laugh, your smile, how your hands feel pressed against me, of the rhythm of your voice, letting go of it all. I learned a long time ago that hold on to these things wont help me in the long run. But it's only been a week, so it's slow going.

I'd rather you be a friend than a ghost of a memory.

Sorry for the moment of weakness,

Maggie