I remember some of the things you taught me when we were younger. You're only a year older than me, and thought you knew everything. So you showed me how to steal a cookie when mom wasn't looking. You'd show me how movies were going to end before they did. How to play the piano. Or do laundry.

But we're older now. And I can bake my own cookies, look up online how movies end, play the piano, do laundry. You're just not here to see it.

I remember when you'd play the drums. I'd remember you banging the sticks to the set like your life depended on it. And it did. Because it kept your head up, and level, and not to the floor. Your life depended on you losing focus for a little time where all you heard was music. So you could be away from the world.

Maybe you wanted to be a little too far from the world. Because you distanced yourself from the only family that ever knew you. I thought we were apart of your world.

Maybe you think we distanced ourselves from you. But we want you back.

I just want to steal you away from where you're at, like a cookie on the kitchen counter.

I want you to tell me how everything is going to end between you and I, that it is all going to be okay,

because the middle of this film we're in is confusing me.

I want you to teach me piano, because I forget what it's like to be next to you.

And I want you to teach me how to do laundry because honestly, you were the worst at it. You threw everything into one load. Colors. Whites. Darks. And that made me laugh. And I miss that kind of laughing.

But the thing is, the clothes would get dingy every time you throw them into the wash, no matter if you hung them to dry or not. But that's life. Please understand that. We get ruined sometimes, worn down. But we're just trying to sort through the colors of clothes.

Sincerely,

The girl with a mustard stain on a shirt you bought me,

Who is ready for you to say the ending to this movie