Earlier today, I was most concerned about you, how you sat next to me in Spanish. How I lent you my pen. How you helped me correct my test, when for once I honestly didn't understand the material. How pretty your eyes are, even though I still can’t decide if they’re brown or hazel.
But children were dying. There were bigger concerns in the minds of people just 15 miles away. Bodies. Blood. Bullets.
There are still children missing, their parents not knowing if they’re alive. Catie lives in Newtown. Her brother is missing. They may have found him by now. I’m not sure I want to know how he is.
It was your birthday today. What a terrible, terrible way to celebrate. I remember my birthday in Spanish class, how there was that fleeting moment when I looked in your brown-hazel eyes and you looked back. I was so happy that day. I turned fourteen, and there was no mass-shooting. I wonder where Catie’s brother is.