A piece of paper torn from a lined notebook. Undated. Hand-printed words:
(The piece of paper has been crumpled repeatedly. The left-hand side is a ragged tear, torn from a notebook binding. Large, shaky words cover the top part of the page—smeared pencil, inscribed by a palsied hand.
The paper is aged and well handled. It is no longer crisp; instead, it has been transformed into a fragile cloth, by folding and refolding, by damp and greasy fingertips.
Dingy and gray; smeared graphite. Sprinkled, dipped in water, then dried once again.
The words are barely legible. But they are legible.)
—there’s nothing left in me, Taylor. Not anymore.
I’m sorry.
I failed you. I couldn’t stop failing you.