Chapter 12
EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD
Clover,
I don’t know if you’re even reading these, and yet I still write to you.
I don’t know what’s worse: you not caring enough to read them, or you reading them and not answering.
Gods, I miss you. I miss your wit and hearing about your life. I miss feeling your days along with you. I miss you smiling at Roland when you know I’m there.
Say something. Anything.
Tell me you hate me. Tell me you’ve forgotten me. Tell me you’ve replaced me.
Just don’t keep doing this. Silence isn’t nothing. It’s worse.
I love you.
Yours,
Amos
Clover,
I train every day until I can barely move. I don’t speak to anyone because I don’t care. All day, I think of ways of getting to you, like I’m chasing a ghost.
I think I’ve finally descended into madness.
I love you.
Yours,
Amos