This thing's probably gonna be a continuation of the last letter.

Real sorry about the last one, though. I wasn't feeling up to it, so I sent it, then realized how much of a fool I am for writing an incomplete letter, so here I am, writing a continuation of the previous letter.

I'm really falling apart.

But anyways, I'm straying from the point, as my teachers love to say.

I should probably tell you what happened when I bumped into her again.

…

They say relationships are messy. Getting into them is hard, and getting out is like trying to open a bag of chips. Like, those hard-to-open chip packets. Those things are nightmares.

That's also probably the exact way of describing the anguish of leaving a relationship.

You put everything into getting out, and when you do get out, the end product isn't worth shit.

I thought I'd have closure when Beatrice and I split. Like, I'd have my old world back, with my friends and the parties and the quality time with my Pa. That's all I ever wanted, to make my old world feel better, to look better. To be a fresh start.

So why is everything disintegrating before my eyes? My friends are gone, and with them came the parties and the social graces. With Beatrice gone, I was left to nothing, cast out for rejecting the most eligible girl in the school.

And not to mention all the other things that are happening right now.

Did I mention that the garage I was working for closed down? Like, out of nowhere. Gone. Poofed out of existence. Even the manager with his beloved Dodge Challenger was sitting on the porch, looking at the garage with a mixture of everything on his face.

"It's gone now, boy," he said to me, "and you will soon be too."

And then he just burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably into his beloved car, and I was just…standing there. Uselessly.

I don't know why everything just seems to crumble right in front of me.

Like, everything I try to care about. Just gone, in a blink of an eye.

And the remains just don't belong anymore. You just know that they were part of your life, and now they aren't.

Like Beatrice. Like my friends, and the parties. Like my job down in the garage.

I bumped into her in the hallway, and…I don't know how to describe it.

Can we leave it at that?

Please?

Regards,

Elliot.