twenty-seven september
ten : twenty-three p.m.

i am in our old town. i wrote to you:

"i wish you were here. so badly. it isn't how i remember it. new stores, people i don't recognize. i visited the lost dog and wrote in one of the sketchbooks. the person with the gorgeous handwriting is still around.

one of my friends from freshman year told me he'd been in love with me.

i don't understand this. i'm so gone right now, i'm sorry. i think about you more often than you realise. i miss you.

the lights are on in your bedroom."

and you replied:

"dont make me cry more than i have to...west by god and everything ever perfect."