the last sorry.

Hey.

Remember me? It’s so weird that we haven’t talked since I called you after the Harry Potter party, when I talked to you every day for three months. It’s weird that I don’t have you to plan outfits for anymore, or have Josh Groban parties in our room, or cut your hair, or share my zebra blankie and watch Criminal Minds.

You seem like you are doing really great. You’re living with a girl from my young adult lit class, she’s a sweetheart with odd taste in books. You seem to be happy, which is all I’ve ever wanted for you. We used to be best friends. But don’t best friend’s talk to each other?

Nothing has been the same since that day I said the wrong thing. I’d give anything to take those words back. If only I’d walked a little faster or slower, went to the bathroom, or not even have gone to class at all that day. But I didn’t. I saw that person. And I called you and said the exactly wrong thing. Then everything exploded in the kitchen, while another person ate my mac and cheese. Then you left and he promised he’d fix everything.

He did. For the most part.

I believe you haven’t forgiven me. That’s why we haven’t spoken. I wanted to give you your space, let you come to me. But you haven’t.

You’ve let me go.

Which is fine, I understand. I hurt you deeply.

But remember all the laughter? The treats I’d buy for you every time I went to the store? Hiding Travis every other Wednesday? Always having to have the closet door closed? The time we drove Morgy to the ER at three in the morning?

Why don’t you miss me as much as I miss you?

I’ve said it a thousand times, and I’m going to say it one last time.

I’m sorry.

Meg.