I know you’re getting married next year. I’m happy that you found a relationship you can thrive in. You’re still in my heart and often on my mind—I don’t indulge much in imagining the miracle that would be you and I reconnecting again, but a part of me is holding on from a distance. If I can’t have you, I’ll have me, and I’m always a good investment. I miss you. I miss us. It hurt me when you said it wasn’t realistic, that you were invested because you’ve got a great imagination, which is why you said you’re so good at writing fiction. That wasn’t fair and it hurt, but you’re happy now. I won’t be the one to take that away or mess with it, I care about you more than you know. More than you’ll probably ever know. Only God knows, my dear Jack.