I'll be haunting people around here for the next little bit. Thought I'd let you know. The living always seem to want a heads-up before anything meaningful occurs in their lives, though they seem so ill-prepared for it once it comes. We'll start it off simply, no real narrative involved.

The one with long hair and the German officer's jacket. Another friend of ours claimed that most of us, to some extent, wanted to be you. You told me once that you wanted people to look for you in dissolving crowds, to seek you out for your idealism and radical thoughts. I didn't want to be anything like you, but you did have things I wanted - the effortless gait, the endless hallway of open doors, the prettiest of the girls; all of it. But behind closed doors, where I knew you best, you were never quite so sparkling, and the same incredible romanticism that won that girl and many others over also apparently gave you license to get drunk and hit her. A few months later, she gave me her phone number in a bout of miraculous luck, but I never called it. I found it didn't suit me anymore.

The kid who introduced me to oolong tea. You said: we can't possibly keep up, but we are more than the sum of our parts. Let's condense our lives into short vignettes rather than complete thoughts or stories, scribbled poems on the backs of napkins rather than published essays. Here is mine, and you may try it on for size. (If it doesn't fit, return it.) We both know that, as one of my personal rules, I don't make promises. It's my rule, though, and I can break it: I will drive with you, as far North as we can make it, if that's really what we have to do to find what it is you're looking for. Maybe I'd be paying off some of my debts.

The girl with the wireframe glasses, who loved Chinese food at least as much as I do. You made me angry. I didn't think I still had it in me. I went home for Christmas this year and couldn't even stand being home for more than two days, so I went back to my own place and picked up shifts to give myself a reason to be there. I didn't tell you so that I didn't have to talk to you, to hear that lovely, lyrical voice contorted into a hateful shriek. I've never felt so despised, and you told me you were positive that I felt equally contemptuous. I didn't. You were the one that convinced me that I should wish my company on no good woman, and that I made you feel disgusting and ashamed because I couldn't bring myself to look you in the eye. You told me you felt sick for days when I left your house in the middle of the night, but let's be fair - you told me to go. Now I recognize fully what I only suspected then - that any attempt at intimacy on my part is half-baked at best, that as soon as I border on honesty I either ignore future questions or dissapear completely. When I raised my voice to match yours, it occured to me that it hadn't happened in years, so at least you showed me that I still have the capacity for something passionate, even if it's anger. I don't think I ever want to see you again, though, and all future letters will be burned. In addition, it is incredibly difficult for me to sleep with another person in the bed. I harbor few regrets, but know that I hope you have the good fortune to meet a better person next time.

The finest liar I've ever met. When I was strung out on anything I could get my hands on, having not eaten or slept in weeks, you brought me food, tons of it, for days. You didn't think twice, and I suppose that's how a family is supposed to operate. Remember this: that, as far as I am concerned, I only exist in case you need protecting.