"I have this door in my apartment...it's old and made of oak, but it's not an Old Oak Door. Every night I keep finding myself standing in front of it, opening and closing and opening and closing hoping that one time when I swing it open I'll see him standing there...and his smile won't be...THAT smile. I'll see him there and...I'll know that there's a chance I can fix this...that it'll be okay."

At this the line goes quiet for a moment and a soft rustle can be heard, wiping away of tears or simply attempting to fold into a smaller shape in the corner.

"I know you probably won't listen to this...because I can't imagine how much you despise me for the side I fell on in this but...I promise that I won't rest until I find a way to fix this...somehow..."