I loved you. There were so many of us who did. You knew it, too. But still, tonight, I might have realized how weak you were. I was too selfish to ever do more than think about you. I wanted to help you. Your struggles devastated me. You were my same once, weren't you? Didn't we trip acid together and go on the Danger Run? Didn't Rory throw our orange juice out the window after we giggled like maniacs and sneaked it into the backseat with us? We almost got shot that night. Jesus it was all so fun. And then we went home, came down, and had that very meaningful conversation about a pink pen. And Thooey's Auto Shop? Daniel Johns? How much you adored him? I'll never forget the photo booth, either. You looked best with red hair, you know. Every color under the sun, that was your modus operandi. But fire engine red. That was it. You were so beautiful. If you hadn't gotten lost I probably would have eventually called you Raphaelite. Your smile was radiant. You knew, but it didn't beam because of any effort on your part. You shone. As cliched as it may sound, the moth to flame reference comes to mind. I miss you. So much. I never stopped. What will I do now? When I come across your photo? I looked for them tonight. I can't find them anywhere. I'm terrible about organizing and forgetting. I'll find it before the funeral, I promise. And I'll send you the most beautiful, bright, perfectly lush bouquet. Your life was beautiful. It was. And you never believed that you could have anything. You could've. I promise. Everything. I'll never blame you, I can't justify it. They never loved you enough. And I don't know if I'll ever forgive the rest of us.
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