Status Updates From P.S. I Miss You

Dear Cilla,

I know now that you'll never get these letters. I know they'll stay in this notebook forever. I know it will hurt every time I look at them, just like it hurts every time I write them.

Maybe these letters are my own form of prayer. Maybe "I miss you" is my amen.

For the first time in two months, I laughed.

It felt weird, like I was speaking a foreign language.

I liked it, but I felt guilty at the same time. Like by laughing I was betraying you. Like by smiling I was telling you I didn't care about you anymore.

I promise I'm still sad. Is it okay if I'm not sad all the time, though?

There's no band-aid big enough for this.

Dear Evie,

I mean it. Stop writing. Don't try to visit me. You need to learn to live without me.

Your sister,
Cilla

ARE YOU KIDDING.

P.S. I miss you.

P.P.S. Please write back. I need your help.

P.S. I miss you. I miss your advice.

You can stop writing, but I won't. You're still my sister. You may have typed this letter, but you still signed your name. There's still a heart over the i. You still love me. I still love you.

Happy birthday to me! Or not.

When I turned 11, you woke me up by bouncing on my bed and shoving a shiny red bag in my face.

When I turned 10, you woke me up by bouncing on my bed and giving me a gift card to the trampoline park.

When I turned 9, you woke me up by bouncing on my bed and giving me a picture of a hand-drawn unicorn.

When I woke up today, my bed was still and silent.

P.S. I miss you. I miss the voice of sanity in this house!

You're my sister. God's just the big guy in the sky who led Mom and Dad push you away. He's the one who made them feel ashamed of you.

oh this book 3

I remember when you packed your suitcase, while I sat on the end of your bed and watched. Your room got emptier with each thing you added to the suitcase. I got emptier.

Wow (complimentary)

I can already tell where this letter writing thing is going and Evie's parents are even more awful than I first thought.