Dear Dawson

Dear Dawson- 12

May 26.

  Dear Dawson, I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and stare at the moon from my bedroom window.

Maybe I do it because it seems poetic.

Or maybe because I know you're under the same stars, the same galaxy.

When we were best friends, you'd wake up with me to stare as well.

You'd do it rather often actually.

I wonder if you still wake up with me to just stare and think about everything.

You'd always complain that waking up so early every day was "unholy and psychotic." That always made me laugh.

I miss you.

I giggled loudly as you complained for the thousandth time that it was "way too early for this." Even though we weren't physically together, simply talking over a phone, it still felt mice. It felt like I had company, companionship.

You were my companionship.

Oh, and what an amazing companionship we had.

"Did you know that there are deadly storms on the moon?" I asked as I continued to stare in awe at the bright moon hanging in the plain, black sky above, "it's poetic really, how something so beautiful and mesmerizing can be so....so.."

"Bad for you," you finished my sentence that night. I smiled a little.

"Yeah," I replied in a hushed voice. There was a long moment of silence before you spoke again.

"Are you always this poetic at-" you stopped to check the current time, "12'O clock at night?" You screeched that so loud I almost dropped my phone. It was rather humorous.

"Jesus, Kindley!" you complained, "do you enjoy falling asleep in English?" I laughed at that.

"Yes, actually, I do," I replied, "Mrs. Green's voice just bores me." As if on cue, I yawned. Laughter was heard throughout our phone line.

"See? Even thinking about it is making me sleepy!" I laughed even though I was completely serious. She really did have a boring voice.

"Go to sleep, then, Kindley," you softly said, "you'll be a walking zombie tomorrow if you don't." I nodded. You were right even if I didn't want to really admit it.

"Okay, fine, I'll go to sleep," I smiled a little at your obvious concern, "goodnight, Dawson York." I liked when you showed you were concerned. Maybe that was wrong or strange of me, but nonetheless, it was true. It made me feel special, like someone actually cared. I thought you really did.

"Goodnight, Kindley."

Then, you hung up and silence consumed my bedroom, only the company of the moon left.

That was a good memory in my eyes- I mean, it would be a lot better if we were still best friends, but you know, whatever.

You kind of reminded me of the moon's deadly storms that were so very beautiful yet so bad for you, as you said. Back then, I never would've compared you to it, but now, there is no doubt to the similarities.

Storms kill.

And, so do you.

You killed hope and happiness and the twinkle in my eyes when I smiled. Do you know what you did? Do you know the severity for me?

I don't think you really do, but neither do storms.

How could I storm know the damage it has caused?

It doesn't even have emotions or a brain at that. There is no way it could ever understand even a little of the trauma it caused. I think storms are just a little too naive to know just how deadly they are, just like you.

You don't know what you do, which is why I find it pretty hard to be mad at you for long.

I guess you just moved on.

Just like storms inevitably do.

Love,
Kindley.