Saturday marked one month since Rob was in a car accident, the day his expiration date read one week. I'm still angry. I've denounced any emotional attachments to people that could potentially hurt me somewhere in the distant or not so distant future. I've decided that being single is the best possible thing for me right now while simultaneously having dreams about marriage and pregnancy. My brain is in such a state of contradiction I'm pretty sure it's peaking at World Record status.

I've had almost no voice for almost a week now. I talk as little as possible, though I still find myself talking about the death. I miss my ghetto Canadian. I miss walking through the neighborhood smoking cigars like we're cool kids. I voice my fears and losses even when I don't have a voice. The funny part in all this, I'm getting hit on more with no voice and state of constant anger.

I want to be back on my Cape Cod beaches. The ocean was always the one constant in my life, even though it's ever changing. The rolling waves crashing against the jetties always had a way of straightening out my thoughts.

To My Canadian

This certainly isn't the last letter I will write to you. I'm sure I'll end up writing a handful more that I hope reach you somehow. The last time I spoke to you I was hateful. I was hurt and upset. And while I'm sorry for how I said those things, I'm not sorry for what I said.

Your death has caused many emotions to come to the surface. Grief, anger, loneliness, regret, guilt. I haven't stopped thinking about you since I last spoke to you. Which happened to be twelve hours before you crashed. You told me you wanted to move this way, we talked about hanging out again. You hit on me. That affects me more now than it did at the time. I have to live with flirtations being the last words you said to me. I regret now not returning those remarks in a more serious manner.

Thinking back to when we first met, I did everything wrong. I drunkenly kissed you, that was our first meeting. After which I decided to give you a chance to correct my drunken mistake, but I couldn't go through with it. I admit the only reason I slept with you that once was because of my Canadian fascination. I unintentionally strung you along like a lovesick puppy as I was seeing other people. I feel horrible that I never was able to return the feelings you had for me. But I'm happy that a friendship was able to come out of it.

Hanging out with you was always one of my favorite parts of visiting my family. I think one of my best memories was our walk around the neighborhood talking about everything and anything. You were one of those kind hearted people that took everything in stride and I was felt as I could confide in you. Which is probably why I kept in touch with you after I cut off that portion of my family.

I've already told you why I'm angry, so I probably shouldn't touch on that again. My knuckles honestly can't take it anymore. So moving on to the part that will most likely have me in tears.

I blame love and relationships for your death. Because of that, I've kind of taken a stand against both and refuse to partake in such things. Love kills you, this is what I have learned from you passing. You gave up on life because a girl didn't love you. So why would I put myself through something like that? Why would I intentionally put myself in the situation where another person decides my fate? Sorry, but not going to happen. I've become emotionally unable to create stable emotional relationships with men. At this point, I think a simple fuck buddy would be too much commitment for me. Oh yes, that's a new one. I've started using that term. I now say I'm going to fuck someone, changes.

I'm almost happy I have no chance with the current man I'm attracted to. He's ten years older, gorgeous, and a sweetheart. Good thing I go out of my league so I have no chance of freaking out on him. I was talking to my Spanish Brother the other night because I was suddenly hit with a wave of sadness. The first thing I asked him, other than not to be biased, was "Am I unworthy of love?" I'm trying to convince myself of such thoughts to prove love is pointless. Love is a crutch for the weak and a weapon for the strong. End of story.

Platonic love I'm still good with. So for the first time, I love you Rob. I hate that you left me. But I sincerely hope you find everything you're looking for in your next life.