I don't know why I keep writing you letters as if you will ever read them or really understand what they mean. I'm just struggling with the fact that it's two months later and I still know the pattern in your eyes so well I could make a blind man feel like he knew them too. It was supposed to get easier, but all that I feel lessening is my faith in destiny because God never would've let me hold your hand if if wasn't forever he's not that cruel. But my hand is empty and yours is probably in somebody else's. And I seem to be the only one who understands how that is an injustice to the world. I'm starting to wonder if this is some joke I haven't been let in on because it makes no sense why the heavens are not in an uproar watching you forget what my smile looks like. And I never seem to be able to think of how to end these letters but maybe that's because there is no end, at least for me. It's never going to be over and I'm going to have to live my life with skinned elbows and a broken compass just praying that someday you'll come home.