You closed a door and forgot who was still standing behind it.
Pieces of a letter she wrote the night you disappeared. Click each fragment to read.
I don't know why I'm writing this. You probably won't even read it. But I need to say something, because the silence is eating me alive.
You were the first person who made me feel like I mattered. Not just as her little sister — but as me. You listened. You actually listened. And when you laughed at my stupid jokes, I felt like maybe I wasn't invisible after all.
When you left, you didn't just leave her. You left me too. And I don't understand why. What did I do wrong? Was I just... part of the package deal that you could toss aside when things got hard?
I keep waiting for you to text. To say something. Anything. But my phone stays silent, and every day that passes makes me feel smaller and smaller.
You were family to me. Did I ever mean anything to you at all?