Andrew stares blankly at the piece of paper in front of him, a pen lying right next to it. It was Renee's suggestion. Of course Renee's. She meant that he should write a letter to him. Let out his feelings. But you can't send a letter to the dead and you can't let out feelings when you only feel nothing.
Nothing.
Andrew remembers when the nothing turned into a this, when a shared room ended in a shared apartment with cats.
He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but fails. He hates this.
With a grim mien he takes the pen, spins it in his hand, stares at the blank page again.
He was never good with words; they are merely just letters in random orders. They are on the tip of his tongue and he feels like they are choking him.
In the end, he just writes down nine words. The only words that matter. He crumbles the letter and throws it in the trash bin before leaving the room to smoke.
He wrote:
Neil Abram Josten,
thank you. You were amazing.
Andrew
