To Sheila:

I'm sorry.

I didn't know how to be a friend to someone. Honestly, I didn't. My life has been a series of disconnections, of feeling less to everything and everyone. I understood you had your own battle, your pain, and your struggle, yet I never got what you saw in someone like me. Or why you even talked to me at all.

I remember the first time we talked. I just listened, and you talked to me about books, about folklore creatures, about nature and scents. About life. And I just wanted to disappear into the ground, swallowed up by my shame of interacting with someone.

But you didn't stop. Day after day, you always came back, with a smile, with a word, and a look that didn't judge. Why did you insist? I don't understand it. I didn't understand then, and I don't understand now.

But when you went away, I just hoped to see you again at the bus stop. I hoped to hear your voice. I hoped that, maybe, this time, I could be the one to say something.

Maybe I never knew how to be your friend. But you made me feel a little less alone at school.

Thank you for trying.

- Charlie