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Disclosure: Emotional, Messy

While we're talking about ghosts.

Dear Sarah, Who Would Have Turned 24 This Month,

Belle and Sebastian recorded If You're Feeling Sinister live; it's the first time in quite a while that I've been able to listen to these songs and keep composure. Before I eulogized you, we listened to "The Stars of Track and Field." You should've seen Elisabeth cry. You should have seen your family cry.

When the embolus loosed in your body, you died instantly. I started the new depression diet: bourbon, academic excellence, chocolate, and nightmares. A few times I woke up in the middle of the night, screaming and covered in sweat. It was a trip.

I remember how much we liked these songs; I don't think it was because we were cuddly outcasts, but more because we were optomistic cynics - "thought there was love in everything and everyone, you're so naive." I liked kidding myself, did you?

I wasn't in love with you; I idealize women too often to truly respect them (I think you knew that). I don't think you loved me either. Actually, it's funny, I remember being so excited you told me you had fallen in love, but it was only a couple of weeks before you went.

It wasn't easy, by the way. You were probably my best friend.

This is still one of the more misunderstood records I've ever heard. We never danced alone or sewed diaries or any of that nonsense. I wanted to be rough like Murdoch's characters: erratic, abrasive romantics.

I didn't cry at your funeral because I'm too self-conscious - I saved it for later. I kept this record though; when Murdoch says "I always cry at endings" I know what he means: you have to know it's the end, it has to come as a part of a grand story. Tidy narratives. Your story was wonderful, but it was too short.

"Falling against the lonely tenement that set my mind to wander into the windows of my lovers, they never know unless I write," so I do. So know.

Sincerely yours,



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