

Dear bestie,
Isn't it funny, I'm writing to someone who's dead? It isn't your fault, either. It's probably mine but then again you were pretty old.
You know how much I love you. You've been there as long as I could remember and then you just... died. Everything I loved was gone from the world in only a few minutes.
I didn't talk for months, you know. Not a word. I had no one else, so what was the point? No one cared. You did, but by then you were long gone and I was left to pick up the pieces of myself again.
You used to help me do that. Every day I'd come home and cry and you would just sit next to me, silently reminding me that it'd be alright. That things would get better soon and I wouldn't be hurt anymore. And every day, like clockwork, I got less and less depressed.
Black and white. Two colors I never thought would destroy me until you perished. I can't comment about how your markings were shadows, or how one eye had a black rim and the other didn't. I can't talk about your pale pink nose or your green eyes. I can't talk about it anymore or I'll start crying.
It doesn't matter how old I get, I still miss you. You're the only true friend I've ever had. And as I sit here, writting this letter, I hope you know wherever you are that I love you and will never forget you.

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