Dear you,

Even though you are a childish moron who cannot seem to get your point across without having other people rush to your aid (what is this, internet highschool?), you pissed me off enough to jump up and make a choice I am rather pleased with making.

Thanks, I guess.

Dickhead. ♥

Dear you,

Time really is an illusion. Sometimes it feels like you left us just yesterday, and other times it feels like it's been so much longer. When did it happen? May? March? I don't remember, one of those months. I didn't forget because I no longer care, but I suppose it's just something I'd rather not remember. Then again, I was never good with dates, even the most important ones.

I'm still so superstitious when it comes to your passing. It feels like the events that occurred beforehand were just the prelude to something much, much worse. First my guinea pig passed away, from a tumor no less, and then our cat died as well. I wish I wasn't so sensitive to those kinds of things, though, because then it gives me the delusion that I could've prevented it. Like I somehow would've sensed what was brewing, but the realistic side of me knows that's impossible.

The religious half of me just hopes there's something after this world, so at least you didn't just disappear in a puff of smoke. And maybe you're watching over us.

Miss you,
Your daughter