Dear Mark,
You left for college and never came back. Not really. A few holidays, then a job in Houston, then a life there.
I sublet your room to a guy named Carlos. He works at the shrimp dock. He's quiet.
But every night when I come home from landscaping, I see that strip of light under your door. Same lamp. Same angle.
I catch myself listening for your voice. But it's just Carlos on the phone with his girlfriend.
The spelling-bee ribbon you won in fifth grade is still pinned to the bulletin board. Carlos never asked to take it down.
The room is his now. But the light under the door still says you're there. I know you're not. But I don't tell anyone that I still check.