Believe me, it will all make sense later. //

I have no freaking idea how to start this letter. So I’m just going to start writing, without a proper 'hello', if you don’t mind.
Gosh, why am I so well mannered?

Ok. Whatever, just read this.

You remember when I told you that story, the other night.

It was something true. It was my truth. The only truth.

And I don’t know what to do.

And the truth is..

That’s all I have. No clue.

Weird isn’t it? That thing that we have. (Or should I say 'had') I mean, not that there is anything between us. But you know.. We talk(ed) and smile(d) and do(did) crazy things together. Like we(’)re two 10 year-olds.
Well, I don’t know about you, but you make me smile. (Or let’s say ‘made’ me smile) And the other way around, I have no clue.
Again. No clue. 

Because you, my dearest friend, make no sense to me whatsoever.

I haven’t seen you in, what? 2 years. I haven’t heard from you in the exact same number of years and I haven’t spoken to you in.. well, 2 and a half years.

So explain to me, please, while you’re reading is letter; please, explain to me: what the heck went wrong? And why the heck aren’t we together anymore, like those 10 year olds we used to be. Or let me say: 19 and 20 year-olds.

You remember my birthday right? I hope you at least remember that. It’s in a few days and I’m turning 22.

Gosh, I feel so old.

You made me a promise, young man. You made me a promise. You looked me in the eye, winked at me and made me a promise.
A promise you broke and a promise that still means a lot to me.

Okay, I will say that I can kind of be somewhat of a stalker. I’ve been kind of following you.
No, no. Not like really following. More like: checking your Facebook, showing up at the diner; you know, the one that you get coffee every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday? Yes, that diner. I kind of live very close to that diner. And I see you getting coffee there. I sometime come there to, you know, write… Because that’s what I do.

Oh wait, I gave this letter to Mr. Follow, the owner of the diner. You got this letter from him, hopefully.
If you didn’t than, this is not good..

Anyway! Moving on. I promise (again with the promises) that I’m not really stalking you, I’m just checking up on you every once in awhile.

Damn you, technology. I don’t want to check up on you. My mind just does. Just to make sure you’re okay.

Okay. I realize, I sound waaaayy creepy now. I’m so so sorry!

I really am.

Or am I? Because one of us needs to be sorry to. And it’s not me. Not this time.

Do you ever remember me?

Let’s just end this now.

That story, about the truth.

It’s the truth.
So, whatever.
Do with it what you want. Just keep your freaking promise.

Goodbye.
I guess.

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Oh wait!

I am Abelia Ravenwood
And you're reading Abelia 2.0