Dear Chaelee,

I started reading your letter in art class but I couldn’t finish it.  This was always my haven from being anything at all. No metacognition, simply blind creation.  I am simply a hand and a brush and a set of eyes clear from the tears that you’ve caused.

I hate how everything just goes on here, how life goes on without you.  Not that I expected it to stop, but I expected it to be something different instead of feeling like I am just going through the motions.  I can’t say I feel more independent, more myself, more anything. I don’t feel lesser, I just don’t feel or think about what I am anymore.  My life feels like a haven from being anything at all. Which is shit for my college essays. You made me feel like I was in a way no one else ever could or can.  I don’t know if that makes any sense. I don’t know if I can make any sense right now.

I want to finish your letter but I don’t want to openly bawl in art class and I don’t want to go hide in the CTE bathroom even though I know I won’t be disturbed and I don’t want to leave school altogether, except that I do want to leave school altogether because it’s so mindless without you.  All my classes are easy but I’m up until midnight every night and I just show up every day. This was supposed to be my year of showing up, and that was supposed to be a good thing, but it feels like showing up to work at an assembly line sometimes.

I try to still wear fancy pants every monday.  I’m wearing pants to Homecoming. It’s sort of for you.  I’m realizing more and more how much I am not you. Which feels neither nice nor neutral.  I finished reading your journal two nights ago. I drew myself a bath at 11 at night and sat in the water absorbing your life.  The end of your life here, the end of your life with me. I read through my own journal from that time last night. I can’t put into words how that made me feel, and how separated even from the idea of you I feel, so  I won’t try yet.

I’m going to go hide in the CTE bathroom and read your letter now.

I wore your sweatshirt the other day and I told everyone I saw that it was yours just because I kinda wanted to talk about you for a while again.  

Things are good so I can’t say that they aren’t.  I have everything I have any right to want and I’m happy most of the time.  I just fucking miss you. Sometimes I forget that I miss you because it feels like freshman year again.  I wouldn’t be bothered that you’re still in love with my ex if I didn’t sometimes feel like you aren’t still in love with me.  

I want to be the way you know me again.