As a child, you were my best friend. I was only twelve years old and you were twenty-one at the time. We never actually met in real life because obviously that would’ve been very inappropriate, but I was never close to anyone the way that I was close to you. It was the kind of friendship that meant something. I believe we were playing Borderlands on the Xbox 360 and just happened to get matched up. I still remember how we met. The way that I pretended my headset was broken for some silly reason. The way that you coaxed me out of my shell and let me really be myself. I was shy and naïve and young, and you were fascinating. I’m sure that you were like any other person on the planet, but to me, you were something of an entirely different nature. You’ve always kind of been a dream to me—always with me and just out of reach. There was something calming in the way that you spoke and the personality that accompanied your words. Maybe that’s why I clung to you. Maybe it’s why, despite not knowing you, I still manage to cling to you. Because my universe has never seemed to make any sense. I’m always searching for some meaning behind it; a meaning that I just can’t find. With that kind of emptiness always following me, you can’t blame me for missing that comfort.
You always spoke of exciting things like lucid dreaming and said that you could go anywhere that you wanted. Oh, how I crave that type of adventure. I’ve never forgotten that, in fact, I’ve spent more nights than I’m willing to admit imagining what it would be like if you were there. I’ve created a version of you in my head that works out as the answer to all of my problems. As unhealthy as I’m sure that is, it eases my longing. I guess there’s some kind of comfort that I get out of it; maybe it makes me feel less alone. It’s like you’ve become the key to an escape for me. I imagine that I’d meet you and suddenly life would just make sense… but I know that it doesn’t work that way. I’m not so much of a child anymore; I’m very different from what I was back then. I know that you’re simply another human being, living your life, and I also know that it’s highly unlikely that you remember me. We spent so much time together, though. I recall my parents telling me to go to bed, so I’d turn off my tv and lay in bed with my headset on under the covers, speaking to you. We’d stay up all night talking and I think that you were the very first person that I ever truly connected with. Of course, I knew that you would’ve never wanted anything to do with a twelve-year-old, so I lied to you and said that I was fourteen. I’m sorry for that; you deserved better than that. You were uneasy about our friendship even then. I honestly don’t know what would’ve been worse—telling the truth and never having known you, or the position that I’m in now. It’s been seven years since we knew one another and I’m still stuck on you for some reason. It would just be comforting to know that you exist within my universe. I guess what I’m trying to say is the very thing that I’ve thought to myself so many times before.
I miss you, Lethal.