A/N/ Ah, so glad I'm not the only one who thought Spencer's sadness was glossed over. I did like the fact that they didn't forget about Clay immediately after he died like some tv-shows would do, coughDegrassicough. I mean he was mentioned at least once in 7 of the 8 episodes if my memory serves me right and the shooting was mentioned in every episode (thank emo!Aiden for that). But the mourning and grief for the Carlins besides the first three ep's was too glossed over, although we're probably expected to imagine it mostly happening in the summer. But the thing that really irks me is the reaction to Ashley's departure. You have Spencer shown mad and sad for two seconds and then be all okay about it again. Don't get me wrong, I'm usually the first to defend Ashley's actions (no matter how retarded) but she still ditched her girlfriend when she needed her most. Not cool, Davies. Not cool. In my eyes Ashley leaving Spence was way worse than the whole Ashden-crap.

Anyway I end my rant here … and bring you guys a new update. I have to say though, that these chaps were pre-written hence the quick updating. So you'll have to wait a lil' longer for the next one. Nevertheless enjoy!

Thirty-four.

Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Maybe way more, maybe way less. I don't really know, since my calculating insights aren't very trustworthy right now. All I know is that they're scattered across my bed. Some of them brownish, other grayish and then you have the ones that are marked by its white simplicity. Every single one them is draped with a small token on the top right corner. You have the ones that are distinguished by their classical and concrete imagery while others are marked by a colorful abstractness.

So different, yet so alike.

It's sad to realize that this will probably be the closest I'll ever get to any of the places from were these items reside. Every single one of them, being dissimilar from the other. Every single one of them coming from a different world, formed in a different moment, shaped by a different feeling. Every single one of them traveled unrelated routes to get here, to get to their final resting place. But every single one of them is marked by the scripture of the same person, engulfed with the same scent and given with the same purpose.

I reach out to take one them. The one that I found on top of the others and revealed its ancientness. I trace each letter that's the draped on the front of it, symbolizing my existence in one would think a very impersonal way. But her writing tells me otherwise, and soon my belief follows. And when I open it and take out the piece of paper, its that same writing that draws me in and makes me forget …

June 10th, Paris

Dear Spencer,

You have no idea how much time it took me to figure out if I should start the letter with 'Dear Spencer' or 'Dear Spence'. Whereas this would've been absolutely futile about a month ago, I feel like it isn't now. Like I've lost any privilege of calling you anything personal, anything a person that's close to you would say without a seconds thought. Because though, in my mind and my heart you'll always be there, I do not know whether you still feel the same about me.

As you know, I'm usually not one for letters. Aside from the small notes we exchanged in class or the little love-declarations I'd squiggle in the books you borrowed me, I never really wrote you a decent old-fashioned letter. And it pains me that it had to come to this, before I could finally do so. But I guess I'm using the purest form and meaning of a letter, aren't I? A few crinkled papers where I scribble down my deepest feelings, that are meant to be read by the most meaningful person in my life who just so happens to reside across the ocean. In any other situation this would have been described as romanticism at its sweetest. Yet all I feel is realism at its bitterest.

When you're reading this, you'll already have realized how much of a coward I truly am. Not being strong enough to face life and its consequences. Incapable of coping with reality and the pain that comes with it. Unable to face your tears, without shedding mine.

So I do what I do best and run. Far away from the pain and, unfortunately, far away from you.

I hate writing you this letter, because it reminds of the horrible person that I am. And here I am again writing about my pain, my mistakes, my inability to deal when you're the one who's really hurting. When you're the one who lost a sibling, and you're the one who's girlfriend bailed on in the most difficult period of her life.

But you have to understand that I didn't leave you, to hurt you any more that you already are. That I didn't leave you because I didn't love you anymore. And understand that none of it is your fault. My dysfunctionality has hit again and your its victim this time around. And, God, I hate it. I hate myself for it. Because you of all people do not deserve this pain. You deserve to be loved, and adored and cherished and all those things I haven't been doing lately with no valuable reason. Cause you're amazing Spencer, and you just have no idea how perfect you are. I guess you're expecting me to now say that I don't deserve you, and that it would be best for me to let you go. To let you find someone, or be found by someone who truly is worthy of you. Although I think that would be nearly impossible, cause if I would be the juror on who did or did not deserve you; I'd send them all out. Myself being the first probably.

But that's the thing Spencer, I can't write these words, let alone utter them. And you can call me the most self-centered person on this planet (and you'd probably be right too …), but I would never let you go. Leave you physically without a goodbye, to an other continent? Sure. But leave your heart and soul? Never. Because ever since I first met you in the halls of King High, ever since I first got the chance to touch your skin, ever since I first kissed your lips … I knew I could never go back to the ordinary and average. Because every time I kiss you, all I taste is extraordinary and all I feel is uniqueness. So tell me; how can I possibly go back to anything that isn't you?

I will understand if you resent me and never want to see or hear from me again, no matter how much my heart would break. But you should also realize that I will never give you up, I would never give us up. And though I know, it may sound as if I'm contradicting myself since I'm the one who left you and I'm the one who put our relationship in the ropes, I need this. I need this time away from you, from L.A and from reality to find myself. To know myself. As much as it hurts to be away from you, it hurts even more to stay with you and treat you like you shouldn't be treated. I figure that not being with you right now, won't give me a chance to screw up again. I guess with me being down here and with you being all the way there, I won't hurt you with my thoughtless actions and careless musings.

So I've come to the end of this letter, and I just want to say that I do not expect an answer. I don't know whether this will be the one and only letter I'll send, but if it is than I want you to know that I'll always love you. No matter where we are, when the time or who we're with, you'll always be the one for me Spence.

Yours truly,

A. D.

I let myself fall onto my mattress, letter drawn unconsciously to my heart and eyelids unable to stay open. Millions of thoughts float through mind, each contradicting the other. Each trying their hardest to seep into my consciousness, promising me that they hold the truth. But all I hear is chaos and I'm unable to lessen the turmoil. It's the heaviest duty that my mind has gotten to process in months. And though I want to keep the peace up there, I'm enjoying the commotion. I'm relishing the bedlam that this piece of paper has single-handedly caused.

And when I think about the thirty-three (maybe more, maybe less) other letters that will probably cause the same mayhem inside my head, I can only smile. And it's probably extremely misplaced and completely uncalled for, but I can't help that my first genuine smile in months is caused by a whirlwind of secret declarations. Declarations that should be painful and should make me cry, but they don't. And I'm wondering if she knows. If she knew when she was writing it, that I'd feel what I'm feeling now.

Because she truly is the only one that got me. The only that gets me.

She is my soulmate.

And she will be my savior.