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February 8, 2008
Watching the investigators fuss over you, I felt like a tresspasser. I saw them dig through your wallet, I listened as they read the soggy note you’d hidden in your backpack. These intimate details, these painfully exposed moments - they were not mine to witness. Somewhere, someone was going about the normal business of their day, someone who had more right to be near you. Someone who would be receiving an awful phonecall within the hour.

Or maybe there was no one. I will never know.

No one will tell me your name, but I hope that you are at peace.