"Do you remember when you were young?"
"No, not really."
"oh."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't, please."

I want his letter to be here already because I am starting to think that his correspondence is one of the few things that I am currently holding onto; the reason that I am still waking up and thinking that it's okay to keep breathing.

Love his writing. His handwriting. Him. Keep smiling whenever I think of him and was genuinely upset that I could not get home fast enough to check to see if it was here yet.

This bell is keeping the time.