Dear Olivia,

Why?

Why did you have to do this?

There are so many people out there who cared, and you didn't even say a word to them.

Your parents.

Your brother.

Me.

Now I blame myself. I know you would say that's ridiculous but I do. It's 3:26 in the morning two days after you died, and I can't sleep because I want this to all be a dream. If I sleep, maybe I'll wake up back on April second. Or maybe I'll never wake up. But I can't shut my mind down.

I will always blame myself for not being there to save you.

God, Olive, I miss you so much. I can never express that in writing. I want to call you, hear your voice again.

But it's just an answering machine.

I would know, I've called exactly 16 times.

You're still gone.

I'll turn thirteen next March. You're thirteenth birthday is in two months, and you'll never see it. Now how the hell is that fair? Why did this happen?

Did I do something to deserve this? God, if I did, why didn't I die?

You were too smart and nice and beautiful to die, but it was you who left.

Olivia, I hate myself right now, and I think I always will.