Hello Sadness.

I think I have a little to talk about here. Sorry to Caitlin for using her I.P. title. It turns out that the 26th of August is a day to be put in the calendars. The second day of my stepping into big shoes. It'll be revolved around death.

There is a trial, that day. A boy who is hidden. A boy behind locks. A boy who speaks and can't speak. A blank report. It hasn't been released yet. The solicitors can't see it. We can't build a case. We can't construct an army. Make sand castles. Fortify walls. They won't let us. The low tide hasn't rolled out yet.
And it's making the blank-faced men quite nervous. Edgy. Some may have heard we love this hidden boy, and we know that it's true. I think of him often. I want to tell him, but I don't know whether he wants to know. Sometimes things are best left unsaid.

That day, they do not remain unsaid. That day, without verdict I speak. To a stage. On the ground level. While he is raised high, like a prophet or a martyr. I skulk to a bottom floor and hide amongst the cracks of the pavement, making note and talking like I have real experience. I do a terrible impersonation. My individual project makes me feel like gagging. At the beginning of this year I was excited to show my friends. Elated. Now I feel rude. Ashamed. I didn't know that this would all happen. And, I don't know whether I can do it justice.

Reality involves justice right? Where is my justice? And where is his?
Just release the coroners report. Please. Ease our minds. Take the weight from his shoulders.