I do remember this one:
But isn’t that fake already?
“Dearest brother,” / “My dear sister,”
How so unlike us could you get?
Instead of some rumpled notecard or whatever, maybe pretend I wrote this next bit on a scrap of old screenplay or treasure map, or something cool like that:
I don’t want our relationship to be: I move away; time happens; there’s people, and weirdness, and life; and then one day we see each other when we’re old, and say, “Oh yeah, we used to be kids together, eh? I think I remember that…”
It’s a shame when so much seems to work together to make people slip apart.
I still write to Christianson sometimes.
But I haven’t even written to Mangelo in months, I just realized.
I have folders filled with whole books’ worth of these pretend letters.
I wish you could know.
Now, more than anything, feels like the time I have to change.
Time to get ready.
I can’t keep watching the same things happen.
Seriously, though, enough about me.