To A Girl Who Forgets

Rosalyn is reading letters. Addressed to an unknown recipient, she has no idea how they came to be in the possession of her older sister.
Whoever wrote these letters seemed to know something was coming; each letter chronicles something about their life that they want to remember, something that they would rather die for than forget.
Rosalyn is determined to find the writer; even if it means uncovering a bitter truth that her sister has hidden from her for many years.


1. Prologue

To A Girl Who Forgets,


Sometimes I feel ready to die. That’s not a cry for help, or ‘I want to die.’ Try to see it in the least morbid or sad way possible. I’m not depressed, or suicidal. I just feel like I could, and that it would be okay.


I feel that, sometimes, when a moment passes, and I realise that that exact moment will never happen again in the whole time that mankind walks the earth, that everything is perfect just the way it is. That is a moment in history I will never get back.


I like my life the way it is and I think if I just stopped existing then that would be better than my life changing.

Like this morning. I was sitting on my bed at an awkward angle (after trying to brush my hair upside down) watching the sky and I see the clouds and how they move and I want for everything to just stop. For everyone to just stop and look at the clouds passing by because we’re all wrapped up inside our own little lives and our own little problems and controversies to notice what a beautiful existence we’ve been given. Look at this beautiful world and what we’ve done to it. What we’re doing to it. Look at yourself and your friends and your family. Look at the people you love, ponder what love really is. A belief, an emotion, a chemical reaction inside our brains? Like every other emotion?


Look at what we see around us (when we do occasionally stop to stare) and how we interpret it. Look at how we express things. Look at how we communicate because words have little value until two people can agree on a meaning. Language is beautiful. Changing and growing and developing like us. Like everything. A word is a collection of sound which we’ve strung together to mean something. Like . . . sky. Sky is a beautiful word. But what does it mean? Where did we get that word from, that sound from? S-k-y.


I’m sure a google search will explain a logical root of the word, but how did we even create a language? Why do we not communicate like animals still, using growls and grunts and calls and cries?


What is this earth we walk on and air we breathe? What is this universe we exist within and why us? Why me? Is it just me thinking these thoughts? There are enough people in this world to be simultaneously thinking the same thing as someone else, so why not? Is there even someone else out there stopping, and thinking, and watching?


Because if the universe stopped happening, stopped existing, everything would be still. Calm. Quiet. If the world ended but not in fire and brimstone, no meteors or meteorites, no explosions or nuclear wars, or wars of any kind, no freak weather, nothing – if the world ended in a split second, like blowing out a candle, or turning out a light, or clicking your fingers, just here one second and the next there’s nothing, then I’d like it.


Sometimes I think humanity’s had too long on this earth anyway, we seem to ruin everything. Ellie used to say if we fixed our mistakes we’d be quite a good and pure (but boring and uninteresting) species. Personally, I think we are the mistake, and the problem will stop once we’re fixed. Once we’re dead and gone.


Because in these moments I am usually content. Uncomfortable with some factors in my life, maybe, but in these moments, content.


And I lived for those moments.


Remember that.



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