Solace in her words
I was scrimmaging through my belongings the other night, I found my notebook. Little book with a brown and blue cover, I opened it and dust sprung from the pages like the cobwebs from an old cupboard during a Saturday spring clean. In between the pages I found the first letter that she ever wrote me. She was right, seeing her handwriting is very weird. Seeing it again after almost two years makes it even weirder. Every word made me nostalgic, I read with the concentration of a kid in first grade made to read aloud to his classmates by an evil scheming teacher. Every sentence hurt and every paragraph was more unbearable than the last. It hurts; it still hurts and even though I’m over her it still hurts. I could die and be resurrected 200 years from now, reading that letter would still hurt. Her words although simple are very moving, time could pass and their effect would not fade. She was adamant that I was the one guy who she could not stay away from or forget no matte...