A/N: Regina Spektor gives me muse. However, it's really sad muse.

Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?

I think it was the greatest moment of my life.

It's stupid, actually, how many stupid things I do. You know, this morning, I actually forgot to put ham on Beth's ham-and-cheese sandwich. So it was just a cheese sandwich. Cheese and bread. She called me from school to yell at me.

She reminds me a lot of you. You and your bacon, really. Well, everything.

You should be here to see her. She's really funny when she's angry. Just like you.

Ever thought we should've gotten one of those Tempurpedic mattresses? You know, the ones you can adjust to accommodate weight or something like that. I always thought they'd be cool.

You're so much lighter than me. I wonder how it'd feel to sleep on your side of the mattress. Like I was floating.

It's November 7th today. Do you remember what that means?

Yeah, neither do I. I think it should be important, though. I want to remember why it's so important, but I can't really…

Something good happened today. I remember. I just wish I knew what it was.

Met a girl today.

I think I might be over you.

I'm not over you.

I found something I'm good at, other than playing the guitar. You'd be proud of me. Actually, maybe you wouldn't. You'd just be happy I was doing something other than sitting around the house writing stupid sappy love songs.

I'm good at making people laugh. I just can't figure out how to make myself laugh. Or smile, even.

God, I miss your smile.

Beth's hair is turning brown. I don't like it. Are all babies supposed to have blonde hair? Is that why she did? Because now it's turning brown, and it's scaring me. She's… well, what if she turns out like me?

It's just hair, I know, but still. That'd be a punishment, right? A daughter just like me.

I wish she was more like you. You were always the smarter one here.

Do you remember that girl I met? The one that might help me move on?

Neither do I. I actually don't remember one single thing about her.

Well so much for that.

I hate you today.

I hate you for leaving me and for making me take care of all of this shit on my own. I hate you for leaving me a daughter to raise without anyone's help but my mom's (and look how well I turned out).

I hate you so much today, of all days, and I don't know why.

Today I love you.

But I can't figure out why I still do.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. Oh, God, I can't do this.

She's going to hate me one day, isn't she? That's what happened to you.

You know, Rachel sends me postcards everyday. Without fail. At first it was sort of touching in a stalker-ish way and now I'm seriously freaked and think she needs to find a hobby.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you'd say.

"Broadway counts as a hobby."

Well maybe she should 'Broadway' more and postcard less.

Finn and I haven't spoken since…

Well, you know. Since.

Beth is seven.

I don't know how I did it but I did. Seven, seven, seven. Isn't that a lucky number?

Does that mean you'll come back today?

She asks about you a lot. You left before she knew you, and so she thinks that I want to answer all of her questions, rapid-fire, over and over and over and over and –

I don't even think she calls you mommy.

Just "her."

"Tell me about her."

I'm no fun anymore.

Why'd you have to take away everything that was fun about me?

November 7th again. This date bothers me so much because I know there's something to remember, something I'm forgetting. Why can't I remember? November 7th.

Maybe I should stop trying to remember. Maybe it's something I don't want to relive.

November 7th.

Every year it makes me think of you.

God, I have no fucking clue what I'm doing anymore.

I'm a little drunk tonight.

Relax, babe; Beth's with a friend or something and I checked out the kid's house, nothing suspicious or anything…

This is the last letter.

I'm tired of you not fucking replying.

Don't you dare even try to tell me that there's no postal service where you are.

So my head's aching this morning.

These letters are becoming monologues, aren't they? Ha, like you even care about me anymore.

Alright, answer me this.

And maybe this will be the last letter. Ever. Because maybe there's no postal service where you are. Maybe it's not enough to leave a stack of letters at your feet.

So tell me why you left me. Tell me why you walked out that door and didn't look back. Tell me why you actually never looked back, not once, and tell me why I didn't chase after you. Come on, you should know. You know everything. You're the smartest fucking person I know.

I knew. You're the smartest person I knew.

I'm not doing too well. I'm actually not doing much of anything. I'm just… here. Trapped without anything to look forward to.

So tell me why you had to die.

Because it should've been me. It should've been me.

Do you remember when you told me that losing your virginity to me would condemn you to Hell forever?

I bet you were wrong.

I promise you this is the last one.

Because now I remember what November 7th is.

But I won't tell you. You already know.

I'm doing better. Not good, but better. That's a start. That's something. I'm not… I'm not over you. And I'm scared that I never will be. I'm scared that when Beth leaves me, I'll be sitting at home, writing sappy love songs on my guitar, trying to remember what it was like to be around her. Around you.

I'm afraid I won't ever stop loving you and I'll never move on. I'm scared. I'm so scared, Quinn, I just –

Maybe I should stop.

Yeah. I'm stopping now.

So this is the last letter. I'll leave it on your gr –

I'll leave it at your feet. You always had me begging on my knees.