When you left you left me a letter.

That letter contains volumes.

It talks about why I'm scared.

Why I can't breathe when I enter that building.

When I drive by that camp a tear slips out.

You understood why when I'm all alone I have to listen to something.

You understand the scars, the tears, the anger, and the disgust.

But you're the only one.

And it's not like you're gone forever.

I'll see you in a few months.

But it'll never be the same.

We won't go on late-night drives.

We won't eat grilled cheese with ranch while waiting for the bus.

Someday I want to feel the peace you feel.

I want to have the joy that you have.

I want to be what you were for me for someone else.