To: condorboy
Date: Sunday, January 29—11:58 PM
Subject: Re:
Dear Connor,
I used to think I was that girl you remember. And maybe I was, maybe those memories are real, maybe that girl who looked like me really was an angel. But maybe angels fall, maybe the wind blows and just like that they can be twisted into something unrecognizable.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. Maybe if I did, I could fix it. Maybe if I could name it, if I could say it out loud, it would lose some of its power.
Why do you keep writing me back? Why do you keep wanting to see me? After all I’ve done, after all I’ve not done? Why do you keep putting up with my shit? What if I can’t ever be who you want me to be? What if I keep letting you down?
Love,
Isabel