Scott, what the fuck were you doing? you were working in a cheese factory, and now you’re dead. How do I respond to that? What the fuck am I supposed to say? And I know it’s not about me, it’s about you, but I’m still here and you’re not. The last time I saw you was probably at mark’s 21st, at the end of 1998. I called you a cunt, and that’s the way I felt about you. I’m not going to take that back, even though you’re dead. But besides treating one of my best friends badly, you were a good guy. I remember how shy you were. I remember you showing me a tickle-me-Elmo you’d bought for her. I remember telling you that her favourite flowers were lilies. I remember lying on your bed having deep and meaningfuls. I remember everything, but you’re dead. And maybe I was wrong, I abused you out of turn, but I remember you abusing me out of loyalty too. SO where does that leave us? It still leaves you dead, it still leaves me alive. We were good friends, Scott, but I haven’t been close to you since you hurt one of my best friends and it would be fraudulent of me to pretend otherwise. Still, I hope that wherever you are, you’re happy, and maybe you’re at peace and you’re as nice and innnocent as you always should have been.

Rest in peace, Skeeter
xo Astrid.

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