Dear Zachary

The night before you were folding your clothes as neat and tight as possible, now they fit seamlessly in the oversized army green bag beside the door. You are always in the bathroom standing in front of the mirror; I think you just like looking at yourself. This time you’re continually washing your razor after it takes the cactus of two weeks off your face.  You always grimace when you are checking for missed spots, brushing your teeth back and forth and then putting on a forced smile so you can examine the front teeth running your tongue slightly over them to make them appear glossy. It wouldn’t be complete without the rub of your hand across the top of your head just to move the one to two inches of stubble around. The clothes you have on make you look like any other civilian apart from them being painstakingly wrinkle free. Your faded jeans with the occasional hole, a shirt that most people would consider dressy, and the dark complexion most people get from tanning. You never break your posture; your back is completely straight all of the time. Or lose composure; acting like it’s any other day carrying on with only small talk anymore. You’ve gotten really good at deciphering what you say and what you keep to yourself. You’re so good at it you don’t even take time to filter anymore it is just natural, a continuous flow of words. That distinct lively person that used to be is no longer there, just a hard shell. You constantly glance at the microwave clock waiting for it to be early enough to leave. The bags are lifted off the floor and placed on your shoulder in one swift movement. Leaving is always the hardest part for everyone but you. The hugs you give aren’t those embracing ones that make you want to keep holding on. They just have no meaning to them anymore. It’s like hugging a wall, only a one way type of deal. The tears that stream down my face don’t sting as much. They just dry out my skin and smear my mascara. After you’re out of sight it’s easy to forget every detail I long to remember.