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[september 10th 2019]

Dear Anthony,

Although we live in the same house, you hardly ever speak to me.

We communicate through the notes scribbled on loose leaf pieces of paper stuck to the fridge.

I just wish that you would talk to me about what's wrong. I wish you would tell me what's going on with you, at least if I can try to help things.

But all you ever do is glare at me at me from the distance of the room, as though hoping that you can telepathically make me go away.

Just tell me what's wrong.

Please.

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