I checked the mail everyday this week.

The shift button on my right side is stuck down from hitting it too hard, which is unfortunate, because now I don't get the satisfaction of smacking the shift key when I want to capitalize something, and I take pride in how fast I can type.

I know there's one of the left side too, but it's not the same.

I never went to EFY, and I'm scared to tell you that I got another piercing in my right ear, but I wonder if it was hard for you to write "I love you," at the end of your letter. I wonder if you thought about the effects, or what your mother would think. I wonder how often you think about your mother, and who occupies your mind the most. Let me rephrase that: I wonder if it's her curly hair, or the way she looks when she smiles that occupies your mind the most.

I'm starting to understand that fairy tales were never more than a story meant to teach us, and that your gifts were a reflection of your ego, not your affection. If this is love, they shouldn't call it "falling" because it feels like drowning, and I never learned to swim. I mean, my mom sent me to swimming lessons, but I always sunk to the bottom, which is probably why loving you was so easy.

Sometimes it's still hard to write the words that make up my heart, and I always figured it was because I locked it away when comments like "fat" and "annoying" no longer held any meaning, but now I understand it's because you packed it up with your shot glasses.

If you say your prayers tonight, slip one in for me. Not because I say words that are poison to your soul, or because I only go to church for farewells. Say it because my "spirituality" is falling under from this pool of your blood that leads right to your heartstrings.