Dear Michael,
They let me go, but only for a little while. I had a fit and started yelling at you again. You wouldn't answer me again. I knew you wouldn't, but I had to try. I wanted to hear your sweet voice again.
The therapist said that letting me see your grave might help. It broke my heart. It made everything so real. I read the words carved into the black stone.
To the moon.
I lifted up my sleeve to see the tattoo that matched yours on my upper arm. I felt my heart shatter then fix itself, just so it could shatter again. There were two pictures, one on each side. On the right was a picture of you a couple days before the accident. The other one was a picture of us.
The picture was our favorite. It was a picture from when we both dyed our hair that weird skunk pattern. Your lips were pressed on my neck, your arms wrapped around me from behind. I was laughing. My smile was huge.
I lost it. I fell to my knees and I cried. You put your hand on my back. You sat next to me and you cried with me. I ended up having to be carried away from the place you'd be laying forever.
I had to be pulled away from the place I put you.
My fault.
Love,
Elora
