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So Harry—

Well, she told me something interesting today. I’ve been—well, the whole point of doing these transmissions on my own is that it’s my time, my words, my choice to tell you what I want. By that nature, I’ve been wanting…privacy, I guess. Which is silly, maybe. Wanting privacy from one person so I can speak to the whole world, whatever’s left of it. But it—well, it doesn’t have to make sense for me to feel it. 

And even if it so often feels like I’m just talking to myself, that I’m just speaking thoughts out loud and no one hears them, maybe there’s something to be said for actually saying these things to people. For letting some of those inside thoughts out. 

Harry told me—well, that she’s started to enjoy being called Harry. How’s that for a surprise? Over months of hearing my transmissions, she felt like—she said it felt like forgiveness, every time I called her that. Like I must be important to her still if I was bothering to give her a nickname, to give her some space in my head as someone unique. 

“Some space”—like she doesn't know she’s consumed entire sections of my thoughts. And for once, I turned the question back on her—why she always calls be Abigail instead of Abi if nicknames are supposed to be a sign of affection. Seems like maybe she was just being hopeful in assuming what it meant for me, given that she doesn’t seem to abide by that rule. 

Except, well, turns out it was just another way of keeping her distance. Formality as the bricks in the wall between us. 

She’s started calling me Abi since she got here. She’s even called me Whiskey a few times. I’m not sure what to do with that. 

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