Dear CJ,
When you came to this century, I was eight and you were ten. You immediately decided we were going to be friends, no, not only friends, best friends. I went along with it, I needed friends, and my parents would let me see you. So that was what we did.
Ten years later, I was eighteen, newly married, and you were twenty, having faced a disasterous relationship. I watched as you broke everything you could find and screamed as loudly as you could, about how you would never love again. I cleaned your hands to keep them from becoming more dirty, almost as if washing the blood away would wash away your sins, too. Then, when you kissed me, I let you.
I took the beating that day, when he came home and found shattered glass in the garbage.
I used to blame myself for how broken you were. I figured I had done something, something to hurt you. I blamed myself for how broken you were, in your mind. But..but it wasn't my fault. It was never my fault. Someone else hurt you, and it wasn't me, and yet..yet I was always the target of your anger.
I'm so sorry, CJ. I miss you. I miss the way you were, before you were so broken that you hurt others. Come home to me. Come back to me. We'll do as if we were little girls again. We can sit, and talk, and maybe I'll find those old photographs we used to love.
Please. I miss you.
With all the love I can find,
Maribella Fia Calla,
Irene Aria Kelly.
ns 18.68.41.175da2
