[9]

Dear Harmony,

   Forgive me. I went rummaging through your things last night. Boxes of them, piled above and beneath your bed. Along the wall, atop the desk, crowding the window. Surprising you didn't take much with you. In fact, I realized you didn't take anything with you.

   Why is that? Was it easier to start fresh if you started with nothing?

   The more I rummage the more I question your motives. You didn't leave a trace, not one note. Not even a diary, and I know you kept one. I remember how I'd burst into your room without knocking and you'd hastily shove the thing beneath your pillow, like you were committing a crime or something.

   What were you dealing with that was so severe, it was worth hiding from me? Why couldn't you trust me?

   I'm going to keep searching your room for clues, Harmony. I am going to find the answers to my questions. I am going to find you, and I am going to bring you back.