When I finally tried to read what you wrote, I don’t know, it just didn’t register as real for me. I sat there staring at the words but there was no meaning behind them.
Just scratches on a page.
We’ve kept your room for you. We know that it doesn’t matter now, but it didn’t feel right to go and throw it all out, you know? Why couldn’t you just talk to me? Or Dad? You were always out with your friends, why didn’t one of them try? You didn’t have to fight this alone.
When they called it had already been three days. You were pinned against some rocks about twelve miles out of town. They said you must have done it at Jameson Bluff. I tuned out after that.
I think I’m going to go read your letter now. Maybe I need the closure. Acceptance sounds good right now.