It was I who killed you. perhaps in your last days you were too weak and in pain to remember, but it was I. I am sorry now, truly I am. I never meant for this to happen. I had hoped we could be friends for a very long time, but I see now I should have been more careful with you.
That first time … when I cut you, how sad and forlorn you looked. Yet you forgave me. Even as I wept over your broken self, you tried to reassure me. Someday I hope to learn from your example.
I remember that very last time like it was yesterday. I say the last time because I know it was what would eventually lead to your death. Do you remember? I was annoied, annoied because I was in a hurry to get to where I was going. You should not have suffered, and if I had it to do over again I swware to you I’d have been more careful.
I can still hear the boom of the car door slamming, like a gun shot. Then there was a crack. I pulled you out as soon as I realized but it would be too late. Still you put on a brave face, and even then you continued to share your love of music and stories with me. You tried to show me that it was ok, that we could still be friends, even as I watched you fall apart, piece by piece.
Did you know it was I who held you as you finally died? Could you tell through your delirium that it was me?
Perhaps you could not, and perhaps that is a good thing. I would not want to cause you any more pain than I have already.
So I right this letter as an appology, but also as a confession to the authorities. This way justice might be served.
But always know this, you were always my favorite pair of earphones.

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