that I dug out of a drawer
the last truce we ever came to
in our adolescent war...
"Your old friend comes in here all the time," my hairstylist in Florida said.
"The one who's a librarian? She sees Michele. She always asks about you."
When I left the stylist, I left my e-mail address and phone number with her. For the next time Rose asks.
Rose, I miss you. I thought when I started writing this that I'd list off things I miss (eviscerate your memory, here's a scene...), but it feels too personal for an open letter.
Just - I miss you. And one of the only things I wish was different about my life nowadays is that I wish you were in it.
(I also wish I had a pony. But I wish you were still here more.)
I know you know I have an LJ. I don't know if you read me. I don't know if you'll see this. Hell, I don't know if you actually want to be back in touch, or if it's just morbid curiosity.
But if there needs to be a first step, I'll take it. And my door has never been closed to you, not once in these years without you - but if it helps to hear it again, here it is.
I miss you. Come home.
"...I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?"