I don't know why I'm writing you. I haven't done this in a long time. Like the other letters, you'll never read this. Unlike them, this isn't a love note. This is an attempt to fix what's hurting. And there's a lot of it right now.
In three days you'll be 18. It will be the day I've counted down to for years. And nothing will have changed. People would always tell me "she'll be 18 soon, and then you two can be together". But that's not going to happen. We were closer then than we are now. I think this is the closest I've ever come to hating you.
I'm lonely here, you know. And I'm scared. There are all kinds of things happening that I'm not ready to deal with on my own. Even after all you put me through, I wish you were here with me. Not because I think you'd care. Not because I think you can comfort me. But because it's habit. I've wasted so much time and effort on you that I don't know who else to turn to anymore. I'm still your little puppet. And I hate it.
I know it's not completely your fault that I'm so upset. But it's hard. Not only am I dealing with all the shit going on here, but I'm also being hit with all the memories of what happened here. You told me it was the best year of your life. It was the best of mine, too. It was here that I watched the only person I ever loved sleeping and realized the truth. Not that I loved her; I knew that already. But as she lay there against me, I understood that there would never be another like her. I had to have her in my life, or I'd never be whole. The familiar sights, smells, and sounds make all of this very vivid in my memory. The bad times seem to fade away as if they never happened. I expect to wake up and find her there.
But it's not disappointment I feel when I realize I'm in an empty bed. Well, perhaps it is. But it's disappointment in you, not the situation. I wonder what happened to the girl I loved. I suppose I love her still, but don't worry. I don't love you. I don't even know who you are. I just talk to you becaue you remimd me of her sometimes. I think I can see her peeking out from behind your eyes, or hear her laugh slip out. But you couldn't be her. Because she'd never do the things to me that you do. She'd never tell me to leave her alone when I came to her in need like I came to you tonight. She'd never be ashamed of me. But you did, and you are. You disgust me.
If you should see her around, tell her that I miss her. And that I'll never stop loving her.