Letter Two

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Dear Bronte,

Do you remember the night of homecoming? Afterwards, when the three of us were driving aimlessly around town. You, me, and Selene.
We had so much fun
chasing shadows and dangerously slurping milkshakes in clothes that costs hundreds of dollars.
And when we parked at the skyline in the early morning...
Our parents, pissed that we'd missed our curfew, were waiting for us when we'd come home.

But we didn't care.

I think there was something in the air that night. Something we all could feel. It was heavy and it was real
and to this day, I still don't know
what it was.
But this feeling demanded we watch the sunrise as we munched on hash browns and sipped
horrible McDonalds coffee.

This feeling demanded that the three of us be together for this one moment. It demanded that we cemented this experience to memory.

When I think of you sometimes,
I don't think of what went wrong.

I think of sitting on the cherry red hood of Selene's old jeep with her hand in mine. It was warm and small and nice. I think of the silk of your dress slipping through my fingers
as we all watched the morning glow bathe our town in light.

When I think of you sometimes,
I don't think of what went wrong.

I suppose that's what makes me miss
your presence so much more.

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