Liliana spent the golden haze of her youth playing in the weeds behind the wooden fence, wading out into un-mowed fields to search for balls or other lost playthings. Being an only child, she was often alone and would sing herself to sleep among the wild flowers, or pretend she saw her dreams formed into the white clouds above.

One day, another girl peeped over the fence next door.

“Hello,” she called out, and Liliana stopped singing, studying the girl in mute curiosity.

“Hi,” she finally stammered.

“Can I join you?”

“I don’t see why not.”

From that moment onward, Liliana and Ruth spent every day together, and Liliana never found herself alone again. Every day, they would sneak behind the fence, run around in the weeds, or marvel at a harmless snake slithering through the tall grass. Yet, as all things do, their childhood passed on, blowing away with the dandelion seeds through the air.

They fell apart as they grew older, Liliana following her dreams of music.

When tragedy struck, Liliana blamed herself. If she had spent less time in her makeshift studio and more time with her best friend, she might have noticed the depression and saved Ruth’s life. She refused to read the letter Ruth had written, for she feared that when she read it, she would accept the impossible.

After the funeral, which Liliana had somehow made her way through with only a couple of tears, she took Ruth’s letter and a knife, sneaking away from her sympathetic parents and out behind the fence where the two of them had met.

Could someone slit their own throat? It seemed the quickest way to die.

With shaky hands, Liliana opened the letter, scanning the words, written in Ruth’s usual sloppy penmanship.