P.S. Really, what the hell is your problem

Dear Pylene,

There is something about how you are everywhere I look. At breakfast in the morning, it’s like I can see your face shaped amongst the trees. In transit, I look up at a reflection, a flash of you behind me. During the day I can hear your voice dampened in the background, just out of understanding. At night I close my eyes and expect to open them with you right above me.

Stop that. Just stop it. It’s really starting to creep me out.

This something is revulsion, most likely. I understand what our parents agreed upon in our youth. I do still think kindly upon our friendship as we grew up. But this is ridiculous. Is it because I am inheriting the spaceship? I know you always wanted it more than I did, but the fact it was my grandfather’s isn’t my fault. I have no control over my ancestors. Or my inheritance. Or yours.

I control me. And you control you. I hope. I know you are sensible enough to understand this message. I can only hope you are still sensible enough to heed it.

Stop this foolish behavior and maybe we can return to some semblance of normalcy.

At least, our form of normalcy.

I miss it.

Your friend,


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