Hey, Fischer.

I'm not even sure why I'm writing this. I know you won't see it. Just like you haven't seen any of them. But my therapist says better out than in, so I guess I'll keep writing them.

Your birthday was yesterday. I had school and then detention so I didn't even get to celebrate it. You would've laughed so hard if you'd been there. And you would've stood with me. And then you'd sit with me in detention and make corny jokes under your breath and we'd giggle behind our hands until our lungs hurt. I kept looking up and expecting to see you. Even though I knew you wouldn't be.

Stupid, huh?

Well, at this rate I'm gonna fail the year and I'll be stuck in this shitty town that much longer. Abrams keeps telling me I'll wind up in a trailer park if I don't start applying myself. And all I hear is the stuff you would've said about that after class. Walking home from school. I really miss that.

My mom's worried and my dad keeps trying to find new ways to lure me out of my room. I hate that but I don't know how to make it better. Sometimes even breathing is hard and all I can think then is how quickly you'd understand how I feel right now. And that just makes it even worse.

I hope you wake up soon. I mean, wouldn't it be nice to go hang out at the beach? You said you wanted to draw the sunset. I know the best spot to see it, so--

Just wake up soon. Please.

Love,

Theodore

P.S.: Cod really misses you