I found another post - it.

It doesn’t matter how much positive thinking I’ve been doing lately or how much stronger I feel.  It all came back in a rush upon seeing your hand writing. The lines doubled back on one another like dark little acrobats.

The illustrations that accompanied the words, and the smilies we kept exclusively for each other as half-joke-half-secrets, were what made the tears well behind my lids. Every time I blinked they resisted rising again as though some watery adhesive rather than saline was emitted from my ducts.

When I finally was able to look up, I noticed it was eleven eleven, and I found myself wishing that we weren’t best friends, and that you hadn’t got so angry at me all the time.

I thought about calling you today, but I’m glad I didn’t.