Remember me? We went to school together. We used to be best friends: You, Tiffany, Trina, Marilyn, and me. We'd stand on the sewer grate between our houses and say a poem together, remember? Or do you even think about back then? I do, a lot.
Now, I'm writing to you about the way you used to be. The way we used to be. You know, before you ran off? Marilyn and I still talk about what happened with you and Trina that night. I don't think we'll ever forget it, especially Tiffany. Marc, what on earth were you thinking? That has to be your worst idea yet. Of course, I haven't seen you in awhile, so who knows?
If you get this, it's in a giant box, right? I've got some stuff in it you might want. Like the ticket to the Senior Prom you got kicked out of (remember that night?), a copy of the Senior Yearbook, a picture of Trina (to rub it in your face) and (shockingly enough) the notebook I wrote in during our Senior Year. You remember the one we had to write in to give to our writing teacher at the end of the year? Don't start thinking that it's full of what your rep says you read, because it isn't. It's about friendship. About us.
You might want to read it before I finish this letter.
So go ahead...