I remember the day you left, you took the play station and the broken sofa that we fell asleep on together. I asked you if you needed more postage stamps in case you felt like writing. You told me you had everything that you needed. You told me that you left Theo with the neighbors, since the only reason we kept him was for you. I always was allergic to that flower, but I thought that me putting up with constant irritation of my nasal passages is what made us perfect for eachother.
I remember the way you used to stroke my back when I would rest my head on your chest. You used to give me hair cuts in the middle of the kitchen, acting as if I were in a high-rate salon in the middle of New York. For New Years, we would have a cake to celebrate the earth's birthday or whatever. Maybe it was just because you liked to bake. My favorite part was always whenever you would let me light the candles. Remember the year I lit my hair on fire? There is still the mark on the linoleum from where I dropped the candle.
I wonder if you will be back for Autumn. The maple tree has grown larger, and there are nearly twice as many trees now as there was when it was a slow-growing sappling. I hung bird feeders in the branches, and strung lanterns through it for our Equinoxal parties. Maybe you will be back by then. If not, I'll go to the post office and write to your P.O. box. I've been getting all of my letters back lately, and it makes me feel anxious. Did you make it to Vancouver? Did you go to Oregon? It would be nice if you would call for my birthday like you used to when you worked in San Francisco. I left the Christmas tree up through April. But then it started to rot, so I had to get Karen from across the street to help me cut it down. I worry maybe it got sick like you. I don't want to have to punch somebody else in the face, though, so I'll just pretend it died of old age.
If you get this letter, please just call me. I met a new friend named Adam, but nothing will ever compare to you. Everheart is still overweight, and now I have to sleep in my bed. It is lonely. Please come back.
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