yongurt

I didn’t know much about her. We weren’t really friends, I think, just two strangers who crossed paths in the strangest way.

She lived in an old apartment I passed by every day after school. She’d wave from her window, and I’d wave back. Sometimes, she’d point at my T-shirt or give me a thumbs-up, and we’d laugh like idiots without saying a single word.

Her name was Tabitha. She wrote it on the fogged-up glass of her window once, and I had to squint to make it out.

This time, I need to save her.

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