forty three

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Dear Keefe,

It's been four years. Can you believe that? Four years since I got to see you smirk at me. Four years since you called me Foster. Four years since you teased me about your hair- and to think that used to annoy me!

But I can still remember it. And it's not just my photographic memory.

But you're gone now.

Everything we've been through- window sleepovers and E.L. Fudges and everything in between. I wish I could do it all again. That maybe, just maybe, if I lived it just one more time, something would be different.

I know you'll never read this. I know you'll never see me again- elves don't age. I'll keep living the rest of my life, thinking of you, writing these letters, even though I know you're dead.

I'll keep missing you.

I'll never stop.

But do you know what I'm also going to do? I'm going to live my life to the fullest- because thinking back, that's what you would have wanted me to do. 

You'd have wanted me to stop wasting my time on tears, and laugh and smile and cry like you were still here to do that with me.

And I will.

It's not because I don't miss you- or because I've forgotten you. I'll never forget you.

It's because that would've been your wish for me.

And I'll keep smiling in the hope that whatever oblivion you're off in, you're smiling with me too.


Love always,

Foster

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