"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

You know that I adored you, and that I looked up to you. And yet, I was terrified of you, in some way. You wore black, you liked the bands I would later come to love, but when I knew you, you were so different from me. I remember the days we would spend, sitting together all day. And when the sunlight made your blonde hair look angelic, it almost made me want to cry, because you weren’t angelic at all, but you looked like you were young again there.
You would always quote things to me, from songs, or the singers. Two of your favourites were in the book, Love Letters to the Dead. Both from Kurt Cobain. “I hate mom, I hate dad, dad hates mom, mom hates dad, it simply makes you want to be sad.” and the other ” I think I love people too much, so much that it makes me feel so fucking sad.” and Amy Winehouse…. ” I told you I was trouble, you know I’m no good.” You said that about yourself to me. And though maybe in my deepest heart I believed, it was like you became that statement.
Was it something you had to prove to yourself?
Because I know that your family upset you, even though you pretended they didn’t. And I know that school was only slightly pacifying. That was when school was okay.
We felt so old. Do you remember Truth or Dare, with Tighe, and Isaac? And you dared Tighe to kiss me, and he did, but only on the head, and my eyes were closed. Afterward he told me you had done it, not him. But you told me that he liked me, so of course he said that, we were embarassed.
You were 6th grade, I was 5th.
Sophie, today I am officially older than you ever were.
I wish I had kept up with you. I don’t know if that would’ve helped, but maybe it would’ve. Lisette said you just faded, and then you burned so brightly, but only for a second. And then you were gone.
Happy Birthday Sophie. A perfect, one year anniversary since you left.
And I know I would give anything to have you back, but I don’t know if I can say I missed you, because in my heart, I never really forgave you.
But of course I miss you. I just wanted one more talk with you.
I wonder if you felt like how I’ve felt, that deep feeling that swallows me whole sometimes.
And, God, I knew you were depressed, because at school, I once caught you sawing at your wrist. And I was so gullible, and innocent then, that when Harper told me you were just playing around, and that you did it for show, I believed her.
“You go back to her, and I go back…. to black.”
Was that how it ended with us?
Because I know you were jealous of Kendra, even though you were so tough, and acted as though you didn’t care who I hung out with.
You loved so fiercely and hid it so well that maybe you couldn’t be around. Maybe the hurt grew inside you.
Mia doesn’t understand you. She doesn’t. Today I drove over the Suicide Bridge, and she talked about you for a second, but you could tell it wasn’t something she had fully understood.
I know you were alone when you slit your wrists, and laid in the too-deep bathtub. Were you scared? Did you almost doubt yourself?
And I don’t believe in Heaven, but I wish that you could be somewhere where you can be happy.
I wish I had asked you more. I wish I had known how.
But then I was different.
I loved you, Sophie. God, I loved you.
Happy Birthday.
All my love