Dear: A Deceased Person I Wish I Could Talk To.

I should have seen this before I wrote to Jesus, but no crying over spilled milk here.

So I'm going to write to someone who's dead that I wish I could talk to.

Dear Young Me

I keep hoping one day... I'll see a flash of you in my eyes. I still can't believe you're gone - no matter how many ways I try to revive you - it's no use. I keep your ashes in a vase buried inside of the Earth. You were murdered slowly in cold blood. We still miss you my dear, you'd be so proud of us dear, I have forgiven your murderer. Remember how hard it was for you to forgive someone?

You used to be so fascinated by nature and animals. It was only right for you to be born in Africa. You'd be sad to know how afraid I am of Animals now, Gabi. They're Always in my nightmares. Why? They're so unpredictable. Like crazy people. Is it coincidence that every person I'm close to tells me I'm unpredictable? Is it like looking at myself then? With these Beasts in my Nightmares? Nobody knows like I know that I am my greatest enemy. I wouldn't be surprised if that was indeed the case.

Gabi, I miss your surface confidence. I am only a shadow of your fashion expeditions. We were so materially inclined back then, weren't we? That's how you would express yourself. Since you didn't swear, and you kept your virginity, you weren't allowed to go out at night and you lived under Gray and Edna's roof. You lived vicariously through fabric. Child, you were onto something. Your love of clothes has been unequally yoked with my love of sex.

How will you ever forgive me? I know! Over a slice of wonderful chocolate cake.

I know I'm not anywhere close to what you wanted me to be by now. I've done nothing the way you would have done it - you were so determined to have your way. But I've had to become more flexible, Cherub. Maybe that is why we came here. To learn how to be flexible and alive - not rigid and iron clad. I'm two years behind schedule Choux Choux. Maybe something phenomenal was supposed to happen to you this way, I don't know.

I really wish we didn't destroy our old diaries babes. Even though I know why you did it. To me, even though I'm publishing my diary one day - reading diaries without permission is psychological rape. You're taking the most intimate thing about someone and exploiting it for your own violent need to "own" something that will never be yours to own. You're snatching someone's private-ness away from them, like reading someone's mind. Many people have read our diaries without permission - and maybe that is why I had to evolve into an extrovert - who speaks boldly, without blinking (almost to her death one time, but I'll tell that tale another day) and with as many "fucks" and "shits" as possible. Nobody will ever feel like they got something for nothing from me, and your legacy - ever again. I do miss your uncanny ability to disappear in a crowd. I miss you. and sometimes, I really

need you.

Your Disillusioned Older Self.