Feb. 18

Dear Journal,

I’m very sorry that I keep leaving off like this. I promise you that I won’t make a habit out of it. Unfortunately, I have prior responsibilities to attend to.

I’ll be gone for a while. If I don’t come back, make sure my mother knows I love her dearly. Make sure she knows I cherish our time spent in the kitchen together. Make sure my sister knows I’ll always remember our childhood adventures, the way she looked out for me. Gemma, how I’ll always cherish our late night discussions in the garden.

Make sure her husband looks after her. I’m sure he will, but it’s my job to ensure it as the oldest son. Journal—dear reader, whomever you are, make sure my sister’s well taken care of. Make sure he cherishes her as any man should his wife, the way my father has cherished my mother for nearly twenty years and always will.

My parents…oh dear Lord my parents.  They’ll be stunned, heartbroken. Their oldest son. Gone. Departed from this world after they’d taken so much care to raise him.

My brothers, even if they didn’t look up to me, they’d be hurt. Who would scrape them together, keep them from transforming into complete and utter brutes? After all, no one would marry the brutes they’d become without me.

Without me…without me. Without me…without me withou—I have to live. I have to. For my family. I can’t leave them missing a piece. Even if we aren’t always close, we fit together. Even disassembled, puzzle pieces have value.

But who on Earth wants a puzzle with missing pieces?

-Adrian