Dear....

I used to have your voice all tied up in my voice mail box, trapped and whirling around in it's four corner area. I loved that voice, that sent joy trip-toeing up my spine and forcing giggles out after my sobs. Sunshine after a drizzling rain with you, you know? But enough time has passed that my voice mail has deleted your messages and burried them under a bunch of other staticy voices that don't know me. I don't know them either.

I turn and look into my little looking glass and see a little me. She's got her hair slicked back into a pony tail, bright blue eyes unmasked by makeup, and a goofy braces-filled smile. And I can see you too, bigger in my eyes than I'd ever thought a person could be. You hold my hand in your best friendly way, and you smile. We scowl sometimes, but it always passes.

I guess you're right though. That's just a story now, and stories are just stories. I can't make your voice filter through my telephone anymore, but I can hear you in my head giving me advice and calling me on my lifes. I was more real with you than anybody in the world. So a piece of me is missing now, It's getting late, I guess. I've written three pointless paragraphs to tell you that I need you and I love you.

I don't know how to go back.

And now I am done.

I am sorry.