An email I wrote to Blair Meeks. (sans bold)

I realize that I don’t really matter to you anymore, that you’re a different a person I can see, that I can’t ever see again.

It seems that you don’t want to, I mean. Sorry.

Anyway. I guess just wanted to, you see I’ve tried calling you. Over the past years. And years before that, and we actually talked then, I always thought we’d be friends for life.

And forgive me: I’m kind of sitting-in-my-own-shit-and-piss right now. That’s why I’m writing like this. Pretentiously. I’m sorry.

And the last year, I got your number from your grandmother, and I called it, both your cell and dorm, and no one ever answered, I did it a few times and once was hung up on.

Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe this is okay anyway.

I will say that reading your diary really made me happy for you. You really have changed, you’re not who I knew, you’re better. (Not that you were bad. We were young.)

I guess I just feel deserted by someone I thought would be there. Probably stupidly. Maybe I thought more of our friendship than it was.

Maybe it was just when you were lonely-Anyway, sorry about that. Again: shit-and-piss.

Well. Good luck in your life. Again, very excited that you’re so happy and you smoke. That’s fine,

It would be nice to get some sort of response. But now I’m just begging. A simple hi or bye.

But I’m happy, not saying unless you care. I’m actually growing up, this is assuming you’re caring.

And I’d like to remain remain friends is what I’m trying to say.

There you go. I’m scared of all this getting frozen then deleted on my computer, so I’ll just end it like this.

I miss you. Jon.