I feel as though all I have done is say the same things in different words. And maybe I need to explain a few things to you. Maybe it's time to say all the things I never said before.
I'm sorry about that night at the lake. I know I told you I wasn't going to smoke anymore, and I don't have any clever excuse for why I did. You were just as beautiful down here. Maybe the rest of the world was a ruined mess, but you were always my perfect, golden princess. A rose just dying to bloom. Even when I was high, I always wanted to be at your side. I'm sorry I let things come between us.
I went to see the doctor again today. He kept asking me all these questions; they seemed so pointless. Then he asked about you. He asked me how I felt about you. I thought he was sort of dancing around the issue, but there was this undeniable gleam in his eyes when I told him that I loved more than life itself. I said that you were probably happier with me gone, because now you are free to do as you please. You don't have to worry about holding me till I fall asleep or reminding me to take my pills. You don't have to deal with the guilt of loving someone who never even deserved to see your face.
I've realized the doctor never really gives me any answers. All he does is ask more questions. Even if I ask him something, he responds with another question. It's frustrating, to say the least. I thought he might be able to help me get better, so that I could come home to you. It appears as though I'll be away a bit longer than planned.
I just hope you're doing okay without me there. Remembering to close the shades at night. And to put the big bowls on top in the dishwasher. All the little things I never knew we needed each other for.