To my Anna,
It's been three weeks since the last time I saw you. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to begin my letters to you, but it's actually the first time I could write your name down without breaking down and sobbing uncontrollably. You told me once that I had it in me to be strong, and I'm doing my best to prove you right. So, I'm writing to you now, in the hopes that even though we are apart, I will be able to share my life with you.
And life does go on, you know. I still eat dinner every day with my parents. I still go to class. Kristoff still misses you. I talk to him now, sometimes. He does that thing you used to do where he'll call me on the phone just to talk, instead of sending a text like normal human beings in the digital age. Did he get that from you, or did you get that from him? Sometimes I let the phone ring for a bit and pretend it's you again. But you didn't take your phone with you, did you?
Anna, what could I have done to not lose you? I can't get that question out of my head. I ask it to myself in the shower, when I eat lunch, on the drive to school.
I know the answer, though, deep down. I could have gone with you. When you came to my house that night, you knocked on my window, you looked into my eyes, and you begged me to run away. And I didn't. I saw the betrayal in your face. But I couldn't, Anna; you know I couldn't, because I was too afraid. Don't misunderstand what I mean. I was not afraid of my love for you, or your love for me. I believed- I believe, I mean- in us.
But how could I drop out of college? Where were we going? With what money would we live?
You didn't have enough answers, and I had way too many questions.
I still have way too many questions, by the way, just different ones now. For example: What am I going to do when I graduate? I still don't know. Do you remember how we used to talk about the future? You would laugh when I told you how worried I was not to know what I would be doing. I remember one time in particular. We had walked to the last pier, sat on that bench you loved so much, and I looked out into the ocean and wondered if we would still be together in a year. Do you remember what you said?
"Elsa Delle, I keep telling you, if you spent a bit more time in the present than in the future, maybe the future wouldn't look so scary."
Back then I had no idea what you meant, as usual. But I think I'm starting to understand now.
Other questions in my life are more mundane. Where should I get a part-time job? The ice cream shop by my house closed, so I'm unemployed now. Do I like my classes? The last year of college, I'll have you know, is easier than most. I'm pretty much just taking electives at this point, so if a class seems like it's going to be too stressful I can just switch for something easier. You'll be happy to know I'm in a music class this semester. I think it's going to be a lot of fun.
In the back of my mind though, there is one question that burns brighter than all the others, one that I don't know the answer to, and it scares me.
It's been three weeks since the last time I saw you.
Will I ever see you again?