The words infected me like a disease, like a stinging wound that could never be healed in the interior of my heart. Each thought conveyed within the paragraphs of the letter felt unreal; she always seemed so happy, so content. Why did she never tell me? 

“I wish things could have been different,” read the shaky calligraphy inscribed on the page. What does that mean? What things? She shared everything with me, every excruciating detail about every painful event in her life. There was nothing I didn’t know about her, but the person who wrote that letter was unlike anyone I had ever met.  

She was scared of…something, now that I am remembering. It was the day in the park when she told me. We were lying in the grass with her head on my chest, staring at the blinding sun while dreaming of tomorrow. The cool air of early spring whirled around us and danced with the newly sprouted leaves on the trees. She was wrapped in my sweatshirt, and every subtle breath reminded me of her beautiful presence. 

“I’m afraid,” she said suddenly. “I’m afraid of the future.” 

“Everyone is. But we’ll take it slow. Just you and me,” I assured. She smiled at me, but I could feel the tension was still there. She did that all the time, telling me something existential like that and being stressed about it for forever, so I didn’t think much of it; that’s who she was. 

It was hard to finish the letter with her mother sobbing beside me. Apparently, she had returned home from work and found it on the counter next to her daughter’s cracked cell phone. She called me last night with a quiver in her voice to tell me the news. I felt the tears before I knew I was crying, when she told me about the letter and that I could read it if I wanted. It all felt wrong, like this was a cruel prank being played on me to get back at some stupid thing I did in middle school. It was wrong. Until I read it. 

Line by line, my eyes moved down the page, discovering the obscure mysteries of the girl I thought I knew all written in dried black ink. Her mind was a dark cloud drowning out the good and constantly sending depressive thoughts to her attention in a downpour. Every day was a struggle for her, a battle with the voices in her head, and what did I do? I watched her, mesmerized by her innocent smile, and I basked in the sweet tune of her laugh, and I thought she was fine. And I listened to all her pain, all the times her heart was stomped on, and I did nothing. It was eating away at her, yet all I saw was that perfect smile and thought she was fine. She manifested years of sorrow into one document, internal hardships all expressed solely on the page that I wish I could have known about. 

I had reached the end when a shiver fled down my spine. My stained cheeks heated red as tears strolled down onto the paper after I read the last line. This was real. And I could have known: 

“And you, my love. I’m afraid of the future. I’m afraid of what my life will be like without you. But I know it’s better this way. I will see you on the other side. Keep on dreaming of tomorrow.”