Dear Carissa

Dear Carissa,

I knew you hated how people always told you how they missed the punk rock version of you. The glitter-y, platinum blonde, punk rock babe that was like some music video vixen that waltzed into Branford High with ripped jeans and safety pins all over the place. I'm going to say it too though. I miss that Carissa. The punk-y, incredibly quirky, funny as hell blonde girl that didn't didn't touch any drugs because of what "could" happen. The Carissa who I believe - with time and the right guidance, could eventually start seeing the beauty and the light you had.

The life you chose and some ways didn't chose wasn't for you. Clearly. It wasn't for you, and that's why you are not here.

When I met you, you were: Delicate. Darling and oh so Peculiar. I wish you were okay with those things because it made you, You. Silly, Ridiculously Pretty, Heartfelt, You.

You felt you were wild, that you were bad so you lived a life to chase everything wild and bad, to become wild and bad. It wasn't a life for you.

It's not your birthday, it's not even the anniversary of your passing but I wanted to say I miss that darling, delicate, sober, peculiar you. I wish you embraced it instead of the path you did. Today we would be looking at handmade, pretty jewelry and maybe getting coffee. I'm not sure. But I bet it would be really good to see you in the way you were meant to be. All fun and lovely, no substances needed. Just you, shining.