Dear Lottie, God, I miss you. I know it’s silly that after all of these years I still feel the obsessive need to hand write letters to you. It’s the 2100’s… you’d think I’d understand that pen and paper is a lost love language. Anyways, it’s February. I dread having to celebrate without you. Remember my 12th birthday? The one where all of my family members were drinking rum punch and smoking joints on the side of the house. I swear they completely forgot that they were there to celebrate a twelve year old. We snuck out after cake and went down to the creek… man, the creek in the middle of July. Our safe space. Water flowing through the countless patterns of rocks, frogs singing us showtunes, the sun setting in the perfect hues of pink and orange. I fucking miss it. Everything feels so robotic now. The world is covered in plastic and beige. There isn’t any flare anymore. I miss colors and messy houses with half painted mugs. I dream of you. Us sitting on my floor, spilling paint over canvases and smoking pot with the windows down. Life is so monotonous now. I’m constantly trying to make sense of a world I don’t fit into. I know you aren’t going to see this letter, or maybe you’re standing over me while I write it, who knows. I crave the forest and our friendship- the two most constant things I’ve ever had in my life. So Lott, I pray everyday that the next one will be when we reunite again. I love you.