Dear Lance,

Why did you leave?

We were perfect together, or so they said. They were always right. Remember first year? I met you and we hated each other on sight. You tripped me, I set your hair on fire. Good days, good days.

In second year, we struck an uneasy truce because Becca hated seeing her two best friends fighting. We loved Becca, so we did. Then, it fell apart after I fell on your homework. I promise, and still swear that it was an accident. I wouldn't go near your homework with a ten-foor pole. The year ended with us fighting as much as usual, if not more.

In third year, we found out that Becca had cancer. We decided on the basis that we wanted her alive to be friends. Not a truce, remember? We brought her flowers, played with her, and there was this one time you found me crying outside her room because I couldn't take it anymore. You comforted me with insults. Actually, you still did before you went.

In fourth year, Becca died. At least it was in her sleep. She felt no pain, or so the doctors told us. I broke down in front of them, sobbing as hard as anything. You were the only person I know who understood how painful it was. Remember the times when we cursed the doctors because they didn't know anything, anything at all? That was something else. Who were they to know whether dying hurt her? They had let her die. But looking back, maybe it was for the best. If we had clung to her, she would have suffered far more because we, her supposed best friends, wanted her selfishly. I guess we were wrong.

In fifth year, we got over our differences and became real friends. Becca was still in our memories. I confided in you and you did in me. I think it was about then when I fell in love with you. You know how they say opposites attract? They were right, at first. You were hot-headed and spontaneous, I was cool and methodical. Our first kiss was in a drunken stupor. Things snowballed from there.

In sixth year, we fell more and more in love until I felt too suffocated by you. You must have too, because you just upped and left. Why? You left a note on my bed, saying that we would meet again. When? I waited for an year, until I got fed up and went out. My heartbreak was soothed by the words of a dozen others. One day, I saw you in a bar. We talked. You promised, swore even, to meet me at the field where we had had many a picnic. I went there and waited. You never came.

So I'm posting this letter to you, Lance, in the hope that you will meet me. Just remember this: I will always love you.