Beavers,

I've been thinking about my friend Billy who killed himself this spring. I have these daydreams that feel like memories where he's still out there - somehow, somewhere. Some other state, lost among the travelers in an airport, living someone else's life - wherever.

And the funniest thing is that it doesn't seem strange at all to me. I wouldn't call out to him or ask him why he went away. Just seeing his face - hell, seeing the back of his head - would be enough.

I think about telling you this sometimes. It's been 4 months since I've seen you. You're always glad enough to see me when I have insights, when I have worksheets. But when I come bearing hopelessness, you have no room. You just sit there, aloof, while my words fall all around you, and I wonder - Is this what drove Billy away?