colestyle

Hey, how's it going? It’s been a long time. You don't remember my name, or my face, or my voice. That’s okay. At least you remember sitting in the woodchips and telling me about the bugs. Crouched over in the early fall heat, watching the fire ants from a distance. I’m glad you didn’t find out I was dying until later. You went to the fundraiser we had for me, right? You’re remembering it wrong now, the building was much smaller than that. There weren't that many people, either. It’s okay, things get distorted over time. You didn’t cry for a bit when your dad gave you the news. He got you ice cream and told you on the way home. How considerate of him. Now that I think about it, we didn’t ever talk much, did we? You still consider me your first friend. How long will you keep dragging my body? How long will you keep sinking? How long did the car ride last? How long will you remain stagnant?

Thanks for remembering me. I thought that nobody would. I hoped that nobody would, at the time. Though you keep replaying the memories we had. Over and over, getting more contorted each time, like copying a VHS tape until it’s nothing but static. Like showing skin until it’s nothing but scars. Until I’m in the chair and you pull the switch. Judge, jury, and executioner. We both know that’s not true, but you want it to be, don’t you? You want to be the reason behind it all. Please stop warping my voice. It’s hard enough as it is. I keep trying to email you, but I don’t think they’re getting through. Anyways, I’m glad you found a better place, better friends. I’m still here though, and if you press your ear up to the wall I might say that I’m sorry.

We didn’t talk much. I would have loved to keep drawing lizards with you.