Some days, i blame you for not saying anything, for being a coward, for being weak and unreasonable. Then for a second, i let grief take over me, so i cry. I beg the God, i don't quite believe in, to take me instead, bring you back. We were twelve It wasn't fair; it made no sense that you were gone, that they blamed me. I shut everyone out of my room, out of my mind, thinking it would be the best if i, too, died. I couldn't help you when you needed me, and I can't live without you now that you made me do it. It's been years since i saw you, texted you, came by your old house, visited your grave. And I'm sorry for cursing you and your goodbye letter. The thing is, i don't need a piece of paper with your messy handwriting, i need you. As messy as you are, you're you, and i could never describe how much i miss you.