Dear W,

Hi there, it's me. I know it's been a few years (it's four years this month, actually), and you might have forgotten about me, but I never forgot about you. Every few months or so, I scour social media sites to attempt to find some clues as to how you're doing, but I never find anything. I just keep crossing my fingers and praying that there's still something left of you out there in this world. My fingers stay crossed even when I am not scouring Facebook, because I truly hope that you're still alive, and that you're happy, or at least happier than you were when I last saw you.

The worst part is that we weren't allowed to exchange phone numbers or Instagram usernames. I was discharged before you were, and I don't know how long it was before you got out. I don't even know if you made it out. By the time you left the ward, perhaps you'd had another roommate or two, and our two and a half weeks together were pushed to the back of your mind.

I still remember our late night conversations. I remember the decorations on your wall. I remember us looking out the window, wishing we could go outside. I remember how sad you were, and how far past the stage of "okay" you were. I remember your white Vans without the laces and your white hoodie without the string. I remember your light wash skinny jeans. I remember the day you had the courage to call your mom. I remember your obsession with EOS lip balm.

I remember the stories you told, the good ones (like your first kiss) and the bad ones (like your "cat scratch"). I remember when you got that letter that was addressed to someone else in the hospital with your same name, and it was from some church to which you definitely didn't belong. I remember on your birthday I had my mom bring you a Pierce the Veil bracelet from Hot Topic.

W, if you're reading this, I just want you to know that I'm proud of you. I don't think I ever had the guts to say so when we shared that room, but just know that I have been proud of you since the very beginning. I will always be open to a late-night call from you, even though that's essentially impossible, since I don't have your phone number and you don't have mine.

I'm proud of you for your courage to come to the hospital (I know that was hard). I'm proud of you for calling your mom that one day. I'm proud of you for moving all the way to North Carolina from Colorado, even though I know you didn't want to. I'm proud of you for living with each of those mental illnesses and fighting them. I'm proud of you for keeping on going.

Thanks for always listening to what I had to say. Thanks for being my friend, not just a girl I shared a room with on a hospital ward. Thanks for complimenting me on my decorations. Thanks for being quiet when it was necessary and talkative when that was necessary. Thanks for understanding, or at least attempting to do so. Thanks for making me laugh. Thanks for being you.

I miss you, W. I'm always here, if you ever manage to find me. I really do just hope you're happy and alive and doing great W-things.

With Love,

Z