September 19, 2016
12 days. Like nothing happened. We go about our routine today like yesterday wasn't a thing. I know you know something's up. But you're not asking. I feel like I'm causing you sadness, but you're hiding it, and it's less than two weeks before I go. I wish I can tell you so we can have a proper goodbye. Instead I'm doing this secret thing, and watching you do your usual things. I'm almost out of words. By month-end you'd have this stack of letters by the foot of the bed. And God I wish I can go now.