You were always perfect. It's all I can remember the years or so I've known you. How you were always the perfect student, wonderful artist. And then, since the beginning of your freshman year in High School-- you were always the most popular girl. Beautiful, and stylish. Voted this and that and everything. Had everything. Did everything.

We were never exceptionally close. We had a class together, for a year. A long year ago, when I was having the worst year of my life and still tried to look ahead. We'd talk. Mostly I'd laughingly make fun of you because that's what I do; one of my few gifts is eloquence. And then one day you asked me how I did it.

You asked, "How can you always be so happy?"

Let me tell you. I wasn't happy. Not really, not then. I'm happy now, Tiffany. At least, for the most part. But you see, I'm a horrible slacker. I'm too impulsive. Too loud. Not even enough to be considered a real girl-- never anything a boy looked at, ever. Dressing strangely by any standards. Fluctuating and strange moods. You must know how I envy you sometimes. How everyone envies you.

But, how can I... not be happy?

There's another gift, Tiffany. One, both curse and blessing. I... don't give 100% of myself to everything. If I'm on the verge of a breakdown, I don't push myself farther, to do algebra homework. I sit down in front of the TV to think, or look for someone to talk to, or do something like eat ice cream until I understand. It means I fail algebra, but that's okay. I know... it was unavoidable.

What am I trying to say to you?

There are times I don't envy you, Tiffany. I heard someone just yesterday go on for such a time about what a slut you are. So much about "getting on other guys," even when you had a boyfriend. I'll never have a boyfriend, and I guess that doesn't matter so much to me. But I'm always there watching you through the window; coming back from lunch, smiling, shining, exchanging a quick PDA with whomever it is this week.

You never see me, but it's those times I feel sorry for you.

I think the last time we even tried to speak, I was joking again. You were looking for Ryan, and I said maybe he was in the book room, waiting for you. It was funny then, but... somehow tragic now.

You're everything.

I'm not. But I am sitting back and watching what you do with your life. I don't want to see it all ruined and thrown away, Tiffany. You... you were my friend. It was an impossible, a ridiculous friendship between something like polar opposites. But you seemed strangely intrigued by me and I always enjoyed talking to you.

How long are you going to live?

I almost can't say why, but I'm so sorry, Tiffany. I think as a joke I used to call you Felix. Is that fitting, anymore? In the way that it was, but... I am unsure.

I'll still envy you sometimes, you know. But I pity you much more. I guess most of all I'd like it if you'd... talk to me...?

I don't know, quite. I was never perfect like you.