I will always wonder what happened to you. You are too fascinating to forget. Did you find someone you liked better -- or did you leave your briefcase at my apartment to get your affairs in order, preparing for another attempt, getting it right this time? Are you in the hospital, holding onto the tail thread of a coma? I know there's a slimmest chance you'll see this but I have nowhere else to write. I hope you do read this, really. Because if I'm right then you are my fourth notable death, and I can't stop taking blame, thinking that I'm the poison, quarantining. I don't know how to end the problem. Not knowing is hell. If I knew you were happy with someone else, everything would be perfect, in order, in its place. You deserve someone better than me. But I will still always wonder what happened.