Dear Millie

4

Dear Millie,

This is my fourth letter to you. School starts in a week. Everyone tells me that Junior Year is the hardest, so I'm really jumping with joy currently. Yesterday I don't think I said more than five words. I've blocked out basically everyone's existence because then maybe I'll forget that someone can be non-existent, or turn that way. The other day I was talking with Rosalind and she said that she thinks I should have more of a social life. She told me to get together with friends I haven't seen in a while. I want nothing less. Of course, my only really good friend other than you is Becca, and she's still off at her hipster outdoors summer camp until Wednesday. Cat keeps texting me, completely ignoring the fact that you're away, telling me to ask Dante out. God knows that I would rather eat a bucket of worms than do that. Really. I mean, he's the reason that last year I questioned if I might just be gay. And then I remembered that Harry Styles and Draco Malfoy exist. I'm Pan. But he had me wondering for a while.

I want to ask you how you are, but there's no point. You are in the worst state possible for a human being. Or perhaps the best. I'm not gone, so I don't know. If heaven is real and you can somehow see this, please send me a sign. I'm going insane without you. Remember our first date? I was so awkward, but you somehow got me to laugh and talk. I think that the ice cream may have helped. 

I know you always said that ice cream is the best sad food, but recently I can't bring myself to eat it. It reminds me of you, which reminds me that you. Are. My. Girlfriend. which makes me really happy, which makes me wonder when you're getting back from you're trip, which reminds me that you aren't.

I hope that you're happy. I'm not. I can't really remember what it feels like to be truly happy. You made me feel like that. Like everything was perfect, and even if it wasn't, it would be soon. Every time you smile at me I feel so much better that when you aren't there. You're there for me to cry with, and then point out that I'm crying at something so petty it's hilarious, and then laugh with. Mom and Dad certainly don't do that. When I'm crying (pretty much 24/7), they treat me like a landmine and tiptoe around me.

Your dad mentioned you explicitly yesterday. We were just eating chips and guac, something that happens often because your house is incredibly empty now, he just said, "she really loved you". Out of nowhere. "Who?" I asked. I knew that he was going to say you, but I can't bring myself to say your name. "Millie" he said. His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, trying to stop tears. I started to cry, too. I've never seen Michael cry. He cries ugly, but you probably already know that. "I love her, too" I said quietly, less than a whisper, but I think he heard me. We spent the next twenty minutes sobbing through bites of blue corn tortilla chips. Before I left, your dad gave me something. His hands were shaking as he handed it to me. It was your diary. I know because the one with the blue starry cover is the only book in your room that you don't let me read. But now I have it, so I guess I'm going to at some point. Not right now. I don't think I can.

"Take it, please." that's what your dad whispered. "Why?" "She would have wanted you to have it. You were her best friend. Please." This got us crying again. My shirt is all wet, along with my face. Your dad is a good hugger.

Love you to Jupiter and back, Paris.