Dear Michael,
There was a therapist in my home yesterday. He asked me about you. He asked me the last time we talked. He asked me the last time you texted back. He asked me about the last letter you sent. I told him about how much I love you. I told him how lucky I was to have you by my side whenever you're home with me.
He wrote all of my responces on a notepad. He looked at me like I was crazy. You saved me from the madness when you came to the door. We went to see a movie together. The therapist and my parents seemed terrified. I gave you a kiss on your scruffy cheek and we left. They looked liked they saw a ghost.
When I got home, my mom was crying again. The therapist was gone, and so was my dad. I didn't ask her, I didn't want to know the answer. You ended up coming home with me. We slept in eachothers arms. I missed the look of our pale legs tangled together. I missed the sound of you breathing as you dreamed of things I'll never know of. I missed feeling like I was home.
I keep hearing my parents argue about something, but I don't want to ask. They're so stressed as of late. I wish we'd go back to normal. I should be living with you at our small apartment. My parents should be happy. I just hope something makes everything go back to what it was before I woke up. Why did you want me to wake up to such a hell of a life? Why?
Love,
Elora
