"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

It’s been almost a year now, S.
You’re gone and nothing can fill the gap you left. Still, I fall asleep crying and I wake up crying. Somedays it’s ok and it doesn’t hurt that much. But somedays, I just want to curl up in my bed and cry until the tears’re no more to run. I want to listen to the songs we shared, those years ago when we met and lived together for some months.
I never felt your lips touch mine. Yet I miss your taste.
I never told you what I really felt. Yet I repeat it in my head over and over.
Your curly blonde hair.
Your pale blue eyes.
Your smile.
This freaky look you always got, the mischief in your voice when we were about to do something really fun.
I miss all of it.
I miss you.
A lot.
You know, I love you. With every piece of my heart.
I wish I had told you this. I don’t think it would habe done any difference, but you would have known it, after all.
You were walking in front of a train and it hit you and you’re mind was gone forever though they kept your body alive a few days.
They said it was suicide.
At your funeral, your sister read out the letter you left your family. She cried. We all did. The ones who love you.
S., I love you and the pain will always be there. The pain if losing you. Missing you. You decided to go and yet you’ll live forever.
Thanks for the time we had.
It’s a memory to precious to me.
To the girl missing you though she knew the shit you had to carry with you.
We’re all broken.
But your suicide was the one lesson I had to learn:
We all deserve to be loved.
And you are loved.
So much.